Soulless
by VanillaKokain
Summary: When Bakura does horrible, terrible things to Marik, its up to his hikari to help the ex-tomb keeper recover and forget the pain. Thiefshipping, Angstshipping. No real time frame. Yaoi, rape, abuse. Discontinued until further notice.
1. It Happens

**Soulless **

**Pairings: Thief/Angstshipping**

**Warnings: Yaoi, language, rape. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know, Marik and Bakura don't belong to me. They're Kazuki Takahashi's…Lucky bastard…**

Bakura had wanted Marik ever since he'd heard the blonde whine out his name as he slept one night in their combined bedroom. Bakura had looked over at him, a strange little smirk spreading across his face. He had to wonder what exactly Marik was dreaming, what had made him say his partner's name in such a voice. He hadn't thought much of it then, just rolled back over and went back to sleep, leaving Marik to mewl and writhe under the covers.

But that voice had haunted Bakura's dreams that night, too. He'd envisioned Marik under him, hands tied above his head, screaming delicious things as Bakura thrust into him over and over…

Everything was the same the next morning. Bakura refused to bring up either of their dreams, instead giving Marik these looks that plainly said _he knew_. The oblivious little Egyptian never caught on, only glared back every so often and gave him some one finger salutes. But even so, Bakura refused to let it go. Marik's voice had been so…enchanting.

They spent their day plotting, as always. Spending hours at the Egyptian's side proved to be a little much for Bakura, for every time Marik said his name, something would stir inside him that made him want to push him down and take him right there. Hours turned into days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. Bakura became absolutely infatuated with Marik and the things he'd say in his sleep. Each time the spirit knew he was having one of _those_ dreams, he wanted to leave his bed and crawl into Marik's. Touch his sun kissed skin and run his fingers through that golden hair. Arrange him in all sorts of compromising positions and get himself lost inside him.

It wasn't long before he acted on these desires.

It was a cold, bleak day, and Marik had decided to stay inside instead of going out, leaving his to-do-list to his ghouls while he got caught up on whatever was on TV. Bakura watched him from the threshold that led into the kitchen. He'd pulled his legs under him and rested his chin in his hand, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch. He wore a black t-shirt and some gym shorts, his face blank as he stared at the screen. He didn't look all that extraordinary, but somehow, even with his hair disheveled and that fresh out-of-bed look, it made Bakura hard just looking at him. It was the most skin Bakura had ever seen Marik show, even if the Egyptian had a tendency to wear shirts that were too small for him. His hair, being as messed up as it was, made it seem like he'd just had a pretty good lay. Immediately, Bakura started to imagine all the ways that sunny mop could've gotten that way; throwing his head back with a scream, thrashing his head back and forth as moans wracked his body, Bakura pulling it as his mouth engulfed his hard length.

He turned to stone at the very thought of those wondrous pouty lips around him.

He couldn't take it anymore. He _had_ to have him. He didn't care that Marik would never consent, nor did he care that this could ruin whatever kind of relationship they had. Hell, they already hated each other. They only moved in together in the first place so they could spend more time coming up with ways to carry out their vengeance. That was the only reason they hadn't killed each other yet. One common enemy that had to be erased…

Bakura strode over to stand behind the couch, leaning onto it with both hands on either side of Marik's shoulders. He saw the Egyptian tense slightly, but other than that there was no other sign that he knew Bakura was there. He continued watching the unnecessarily loud action movie without so much as a twitch in Bakura's direction. The spirit stared down at him, an evil smile twitching at his lips as he breathed in the scent of Marik's shampoo. Over poweringly fruity and unbelievably girly, but somehow, it fit Marik.

He soon grew tired of just staring and smelling; he had to touch. Slowly, he raised his hands from the couch and gently put them on Marik's shoulders. The Egyptian jerked violently, twisting his head around to glare at the albino man.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Marik's shoulders were so tense… Bakura gave them a few massaging squeezes to loosen them up. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Marik grumbled out something in Egyptian, leaving Bakura to what he was doing, much to the thief's satisfaction. He continued to rub his partner's shoulders, trying to work the stiffness from the younger boy. After some time, he must've decided Bakura wasn't trying to kill him, so he relaxed again, if only a little. Bakura seemed to take this as a go ahead to continue, and his hands moved along the curve of the Egyptian's shoulders to slide up his neck. Marik wasn't wearing any of his jewelry, for which Bakura was thankful, as he could feel the soft bronze skin under his fingers without the golden choker to hinder his movements. He traced the little bumps of his cervical vertebrae with his thumbs, wrapping his fingers around Marik's slim neck to massage each jugular vein, throbbing to his rising pulse.

Another reason Bakura was happy the tanned boy had left off his jewelry?

He was much easier to choke this way.

Bakura's fingers tightened around Marik's throat, fingernails digging into the fragile skin as Marik gasped and tried to claw the spirit's hands off him.

"Gah…Bakur-ra…Stop it…!" He growled through clenched teeth and choked gasps. Bakura only gave a short laugh and squeezed harder, ignoring the ex-tomb keeper's pleas. He wasn't planning on killing the boy. Oh no. What fun was it to fuck a corpse? No, he was just going to weaken him a little, torture him into submission, but leave him completely alive to feel the pleasure, pain, _everything_. Maybe he'd kill him when he was done, but for now, he wanted the boy alive.

Once Marik's grip on Bakura's hands began to loosen, the thief threw him down onto the couch and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips as he held his throat and coughed. "B-bastard…" he gasped shakily, glaring violet daggers at Bakura, who just smirked smugly. He gave Marik no time to recover as he immediately thrust his hands under the hem of his shirt.

Marik squeaked, half from surprise, half from the chill of Bakura's fingers on his warm flesh. "What are you doing?" he demanded, trying to grab for Bakura's hands, but only succeeding in getting his wrists captured and pinned above his head.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bakura hissed, not one to be forgiving of oblivious idiots. "I'm going to rape you."

Marik's eyes widened in horror and his mouth fell open in shock. He looked absolutely ridiculous, such large eyes and a slack jaw. Bakura sneered and continued to explore his chest with his free hand, dragging the t shirt up as he did so. Marik had such beautiful, tan skin. Bakura could spend hours just running his fingers over it, memorizing each curve of muscle underneath.

All the while Marik kicked and thrashed underneath him, trying desperately to get free, yelling, cursing, threatening. It didn't really matter what he said now; Bakura had made up his mind. He would have Marik, whether he did or didn't struggle, no matter what sort of painful things he swore to do later…Regardless of whether or not he lived through this.

Bakura leaned down and gave the boy's stomach a small lick, tightening his grip on Marik's hands as he struggled more violently. He needed a rope or something to keep Marik still so he could use both his hands. He wanted to take his time, explore Marik's body thoroughly, introduce himself to every little effeminate curve he could find, every manly bulge of muscle…_ He wanted all of him._

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Marik chanted as Bakura continued to taste him. "Just please, stop right now!"

Bakura ran his fingers down this side as a response, sharp nails leaving angry red scratches. Marik bit his lips, closing his eyes.

"Just admit you like it, little whore," Bakura growled, the Egyptian's submission only fueling the already raging fire inside of him. He loosened his grip on the boy's wrists, just to see if he would fight. When he just laid there and breathed, Bakura let go completely. Marik's eyes remained closed, face turned into his shoulder.

Bakura sneered, taking his hands and raking his fingernails over Marik's chest. "You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you Brat?" His fingers reached the hem of Marik's shorts, and he smirked at the sight of the small tent starting to form. "If this is any indication…" he purred wickedly, ghosting his hand over Marik's half-hard member. The boy pulled in a breath. "Little slut."

Before he knew what had happened, a fist slammed into his chin, a leg was hooked around him, and the submissive teen had kicked him off onto the floor. His back hit the carpet hard, the wind being knocked out of his lungs. He sat up, disoriented, in time to see Marik running towards the bedroom, where he would no doubt grab the Millennium Rod to protect himself. Bakura followed him, grinning when he saw his suspicions had been right. Marik stood with the Rod pointing at him, his other hand balled into a fist and his legs stiff.

"Don't come anywhere near me."

Bakura leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. "You're going to run away from the man who's about to rape you, so you lead him straight into your bedroom. Not the shiniest trinket in the tomb, are you?"

"Shut up! You're not going to rape me."

"I beg to differ." He pushed off the wall and began walking towards his prey, graceful and dangerous, as a lion hunts for its meals.

Marik scrambled back, keeping his Rod level with Bakura's face. "Stop it. Stay away from me!"

"Or you'll what?"

"I'll kill you!"

"An appropriate option in this situation, but unless you intend to make good on your threats, they're just hollow words."

Bakura was five steps away from the Egyptian, and managed to stay within that space, no matter how many steps Marik took or how big they were. It wouldn't be long until Bakura was able to force him into a corner. And then…

"You don't think I can kill you? I have the blood of hundreds on my hands!"

"And I have the blood of thousands, if not more. Frankly, one stops counting after a few thousand years."

Marik tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get one more step away. Bakura advanced, still toying with him. "But there is one boy I do remember… He was about your age, maybe a little younger. He had the same sandy hair as you, in much the same style."

Marik's back finally hit a wall.

Bakura smiled. At last, victory.

"He wasn't as tan, though. About three hues lighter, I'd say."

Marik's hand loosened around the handle of his Rod, and Bakura was able to grab it from him with the smallest flick of his wrist. Marik realized his mistake too late as Bakura unsheathed the knife and stared longingly at the blade.

"His eyes were a deep blue, too. That was a major drawback…" the spirit continued, watching Marik's horrified reflection on the cold metal. He looked up at him through his eyelashes, his crooked smile not faltering for a second. "He could've been your brother for all I know. He looked just like you, save for a few…imperfections.

"I found him working on the corner last night. Yes, he was a prostitute… Not so unlike yourself." He added when Marik's eyes grew wide. He smirked and turned completely towards him, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Marik knew the look well-Bakura got it every time he saw something he would do anything to get his hands on.

"I paid him the money and he led me to his favorite alley. He knew exactly what he was doing, did all the right things at all the right times… but even though he looked so much like you, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that he wasn't the real thing. Just a copy, so pathetic when compared to the original." He touched the blade to Marik's cheek, gently grazing the skin. Marik's blood ran cold.

"Do you want to know what I did with him?"

Marik couldn't look away from those earthy brown eyes, as much as he wanted to. He didn't want to hear anymore, but he was frozen with fear.

Bakura took his silence as a yes. "I closed my eyes and pretended he was you. I pretended it was you on your knees sucking me, and you that I pinned to the wall, moaning and crying out as I fucked you. He didn't care that it was your name on my lips, as long as he got paid."

Bakura leaned in close, brushing his lips against Marik's, chuckling darkly. "But, you see, I have this old habit. I always want to see my victim's, or rather, _partner's _face when I cum… So when I opened my eyes and saw it wasn't you, well, I…I got a little upset." He raised his hands, knife still clutched in one, and wrapped his fingers around Marik's neck. The marks from earlier were still there. It gave Bakura dark satisfaction to see the bruises, as if he had marked his territory by leaving them. "I wrapped my hands around his pretty little neck and squeezed. I kept squeezing, tighter and tighter as I grew closer to orgasm, and when it finally hit…"

The sentence hung unfinished in the air, how it continued obvious as the color of blood. Bakura smirked, loving the look of utter horror on Marik's face. He adored the Egyptian's kohl lined eyes, high cheekbones and subtle nose even more now with beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks and pure terror frozen in his captivating lavender eyes.

He hated himself for not having a camera handy…

Without warning, Bakura dropped the knife and grabbed Marik's hips, crushing their groins together and pressing their lips violently together. To say it caught poor Marik off guard would be a horribly cruel understatement. He squeaked as his member flared to life against Bakura's, cursing himself for letting both events happen. He raised his hands to slap and punch and beat at Bakura, but somehow the thief was able to sense his movements and he caught his wrists before he could do any damage. He felt Bakura's tongue brush his lips, begging for entrance. He clamped his lips shut and shook his head, trying to get Bakura's face away from his. His last and only option was to give Bakura a kick somewhere, anywhere he could reach, and pray to Ra he was able to get away. He raised his leg up between them, kicking at the spirit, striking him in the knee and distracting him long to pull a hand free and jab him in the eye.

Bakura growled, holding his injured eye with one hand and slapping Marik across the face with the other. He grabbed a fistful of his hair, slamming his head back on the wall, then pulling him forward, kneeing him in the gut and finally shoving him to the ground. He landed on his elbows and winced, trying to roll over before Bakura could grab him again. Unfortunately, Bakura was much faster than clumsy little Marik, and he had the boy on his stomach, arms tied behind his back with a belt he'd foolishly left on the floor, and his butt in the air before Marik could even blink.

"I win," Bakura hissed in his ear, a small chuckle on his lips.

Marik could only stare ahead in disbelief, knowing it was true. He couldn't fight now, with his arms already going numb and his stomach tight with constricted breathing. It was over. He was going to be raped by Bakura, his partner, his friend.

And as Bakura pulled his shorts from him, he finally laid his head down and cried.

"Please, s-stop…" he pleaded helplessly. "Bakura, pl-please…don't do this to m-me."

To his horror, Bakura let out a thunderous laugh that sounded like someone had released all the demons in hell, only to sic them on Marik.

"Cry and beg all you want, you little brat. I'm not letting you go."

Marik closed his eyes and sobbed, hearing Bakura undo his zipper, spit on his hand and lubricate himself.

One agonizing, scream-filled second later, Bakura was in, not waiting for Marik to adjust before he started moving, digging his nails into the other boy's hips as he thrust inside.

Marik felt teeth on his shoulder from Bakura's possessive bite, knowing he was applying a sort of mark of ownership. He bit down a cry, choking on his own sobs to make them stop. He didn't want to give Bakura the satisfaction of seeing him weakened anymore.

"You know this is all your fault," the spirit whispered harshly into his ear, running claws down his back, leaving even more marks that clashed with his scars. "You deserve every bit of this. Always running around in those tight little pants and belly shirts, looking so God damn fuckable." He accented the last three words with sharp thrusts that made Marik wish he'd been gagged.

"Always moaning my name in your sleep, always whimpering about how good it feels _right there_."

He grabbed Marik's half-stiff cock, giving it a long, strong stroke that definitely had Marik wishing for a gag. He hated himself for liking it, hated himself even more as he let out a soft groan.

Bakura bit his shoulder again. "Tch. Little slut." He increased his pace, simultaneously filling Marik, pulling out and filling him again and teasing his member. "You know you want this. You probably always have, ever since we first met." He hit Marik's prostate and the boy mewled involuntarily. "It feels good, doesn't it? You're enjoying every bit of it, aren't you?"

"F-fuck you," was all Marik managed to say. His voice was weak from emotion, from pain…from the pleasure. He wasn't enjoying being on the cold floor with his hands tied, he wasn't enjoying being raped by someone he thought was his friend, he didn't enjoy being told he was a slut, didn't enjoy taking it like one.

Bakura pulled out then, much to Marik's surprise and worry. He flipped the boy over so they were face to face, pushing back inside when he was situated between his thighs.

He met Marik's angry, fearful, tear filled eyes and smiled gently, stopping Marik's heart.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against the Egyptian's lips, his voice husky and tender. Marik looked at him in shock before he started moving again. He gasped, this new position bringing him even more of that forbidden, dirty pleasure. Within minutes, and with the help of Bakura's skillful hands, he was riding the edge, trying his damnedest to hold off his orgasm. He didn't want to cum, not by this bastard's, this monster's hands. He didn't want to let Bakura feel the squeeze of his internal muscles, didn't want to give him the pleasure of making him scream.

Bakura thrust once more inside, and Marik's resolve washed away. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, feeling his canines break skin and tasting blood in his mouth.

Bakura came on his heels, biting down on his shoulder as he filled Marik with his seed. Marik felt sick as he hummed and pulled out, white and red following to pool between his thighs.

Neither man said a word.

Bakura just cleaned himself with a T-shirt from the floor, pulled up his pants and left Marik to wallow in his grief. And wallow he did. He curled into a ball and cried silently into the hardwood floor. Too many emotions were running through him. He felt pathetic, violated, absolutely worthless. He wanted to _die_.

He wasn't aware of how long he stayed there. A few minutes, an hour. It could've been days. He was caked with cum and dried blood from the waist down. Everywhere else was sticky with sweat. He sat up, working his wrists to undo the belt, finally getting it loose after several failed attempts. He stood up on shaky legs, wincing as every muscle he had cried out in protest. He felt like he'd just been run over with a steam roller. He wished it had been so…

He took careful steps, walking slowly towards the bathroom. He knew that when you're raped, you're supposed to go to the doctor's so they could get the DNA and test you for diseases and inform the authorities, but he knew it was useless. What could human police do about Bakura? He could escape any confinement they put him in as soon as their backs were turned, or he could just kill them all first. Somehow Marik knew he'd done that before…

He turned on the shower and let the water get hot, stepping inside and wincing when the droplets stung him. He didn't dare turn it down. He showered under the scorching water, trying to scrub the filth from his body, flush the dirt from his soul. He watched the blood from his thighs dilute and wash down the drain, letting out a sigh. He knew it wasn't his fault. He heard Bakura's voice echoing in his head, telling him he deserved it and enjoyed it, _but he knew he wasn't the one to blame_. So why did he feel so ashamed, so guilty?

He clutched his head, feeling miserable sobs start to rack his body. Why? _Why?_ Why had he let this happen? Why did Bakura do this to him? Why couldn't he have been strong and fought back, actually made good on his threats instead of being an idiot and holding back? He wouldn't be here, crying alone if only he'd stabbed Bakura right in the eye socket. He wouldn't feel so disgusting if he'd simply ran away or called for help. If he'd gone out today, this would've never happened…

He could think of a dozen things he could've done differently, but in the end, he knew he couldn't change what had happened just by wishing he'd done something different. He couldn't change anything now…Not the fact that he'd been raped, not the fact that Bakura had done the raping.

He wanted to stay in there until all his pain was washed away, but that could take forever. He stepped out, feeling numb all over. He dried and dressed in clean clothes, this time choosing an old pair of sweat pants and a turtle neck he'd never worn before. His movements were shaky as he pulled on his pants, bending down was a challenge, he could feel the scratches and bites all over his body throbbing to his heartbeat, he felt light headed, and he almost fell three times.

He didn't want to leave the room. Bakura could be anywhere, and he didn't want to see him now. Not ever again. But he didn't want to stay in the bedroom, either. The bedroom they'd shared for two and a half months now, where they'd told jokes and plotted their revenge and argued and swapped secrets and just hung out. There were so many memories that had formed in the house, many that Marik held dear. And now there were memories he wanted to forget.

He turned to look over his shoulder at the room, remembering all the places Bakura and him had stood and talked, or lounged as they discussed the most trivial things, where'd they'd wrestled as they fought and where they'd pushed each other out of the way. He saw their beds, Marik's with a poofy silk comforter and matching pillows, Bakura's with a dark blue sheet and a single white pillow, separated by a chest full of miscellaneous things Bakura had stolen and clothes that had grown too small for both. There weren't many things on the walls, just a few posters and a picture of Rishid and Ishizu on Marik's side, and bunch of knife cuts and scratches on Bakura's from where he'd gotten frustrated and taken out his frustrations on the dry wall. Clothes and trash littered the floor, along with piles of half-read books and discarded notes that had missed the trash can, but both were too lazy to pick up. As his eyes wandered across the floor, picking out the little details he'd often missed and seeking their significance, his eyes found and froze on the puddle of mixed bodily fluids, breath leaving him. Bakura's semen, his own blood. His breath leaved him quickly and his body heat rose with despair. Shaking his head, he turned and opened the door.

_One Month Later~_

Marik grumbled, looking in the fridge for something edible to eat. He hadn't been to the store in weeks. He'd been living off canned vegetables and crackers for the last month or so, not daring to touch the left over take out or the bloody meat in the lower shelves. It made him sick just thinking it was in the same ice box as his food, but if Bakura were to return to all his steaks missing, he'd have hell to pay.

He hadn't seen Bakura since _that_. He'd taken off as soon as it was over and hadn't come back since. While Marik didn't miss the man himself, he did miss having someone to talk to when he was bored, and sleepless nights weren't the same without Bakura's soft breathing to listen to. But he'd rather be alone for the rest of his life than look that man in the face one more time. He honestly wished with all his heart that Bakura had been hit by a bus or something and died. A very painful death. He deserved it after he'd made Marik suffer so much.

Finally finding some spaghetti noodles in the cupboard, Marik filled a pot with hot water and set it on the stove to boil. He watched the bubbles form on the sides of the pan, grow steadily bigger until they broke away and rose slowly to the top, only to pop once it reached the surface. He added the noodles as soon as it was boiling, continuing to stare into the bubbling water. For whatever reason, he was transfixed. The water reminded him so much of himself, of his emotions. Churning, disorderly, feelings rising and falling with no real reason, scattered and random.

But most of all, hot. He'd had nothing but negative, angry feelings since Bakura had raped him. He'd tried to get right back into his daily routine, but hobbies and favorite pastimes that used to be able to turn his bad mood right around no longer held his interest. He was depressed and numb. He couldn't watch TV without an image of Bakura flashing into his head, smiling, angry, even sad… All he could think of was Bakura, the soft, gentle side he'd grown used to and the foul, wicked side he'd hidden until now.

He sighed, slowly stirring the noodles. He had to stop thinking about this. If he didn't, he'd get even more depressed than he already was. But even though he knew that, he couldn't stop. He…He had loved Bakura, damn it! And the bastard had had taken him and his emotions, and crushed them like they were nothing! He didn't even care about him. He'd probably just stuck around this long for Marik's body anyway. He'd never really cared.

Why did that surprise him?

Marik let out another sigh, this one shaking as he exhaled. Tears had been threatening his eyes for the past few seconds, but as he tried to blink them away they escaped and slid slowly down his cheeks. He shouldn't be crying. Bakura had raped him and left him on his own. Why should he care now?

"Why so sad, Marik?" A cold voice said from behind him. He froze.

"Do you really miss me that much?" The voice got closer, and he felt hot breath on his ear. Cold hands slid up to rest on his bare shoulders, hips were pressed against his rear. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he speak? Why couldn't he turn around and strangle the man who had tortured and abused him?

"Or are you just happy I'm still alive?" He was spun around and cold lips were forced against him in a long, hard kiss.

He pushed Bakura off of him, and the man stepped back without a struggle. "What the fuck are you doing? Get out!" He demanded, voice shrill. He didn't want Bakura here… He still wasn't over everything that had happened between them, and his presence was only bringing back everything he'd been trying to forget. Pain that melted into pleasure, pleasure into pain, pain into suffering. Dark brown eyes clouded with lust and arrogance, his own screams as he was taken over the edge by force. Bakura didn't seem to notice the inner turmoil he'd gone through that plainly showed on the outside. His ratty hair, baggy eyes and thinner waist were unobserved as he walked closer to the shaking boy, grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.

"Aren't you happy to see me, dear Marik? Because I'm ecstatic to see you again. I know I've been gone a while, but I felt it best that I give you some time to…cool off."

Marik just glared at him, trying to burn holes through his head. The bastard had the nerve to talk to him, to touch him, as if nothing had happened. He hated him. His casualness, and his superiority, and those soulless mahogany eyes…

Bakura smirked and stroked his cheek, wiping the earlier tears from his skin and watching him shudder under the touch.

_Absolutely…_

He pulled Marik away from the stove, forgotten spaghetti boiling over as he ripped the Egyptian's clothes off and made him scream deliciously, forcing him to cum over and over again.

_Soulless…_


	2. Getting Along

Soulless, part 2

"Go on. Scream for me. Cry out my name!"

Marik choked back sobs and moans as his wrists strained against the metal handcuffs around them, denying Bakura of any sound that might encourage him.

Bakura growled and quickened his pace, digging his nails into the Egyptian's thighs as pleasure coiled in his belly. His breath became ragged and a layer of sweat made his pale skin shine. He pumped Marik in his hand faster, watching with lidded eyes as the blond furrowed his brows and twitched beneath him, silent screams on his lips and tears streaming down his face. The boy's stamina was admirable, but the spirit knew he was denying himself the pleasure on purpose.

"Cum for me," he demanded, already feeling Marik starting to quiver beneath him. He thrust harder, pumped faster, until Marik opened his mouth with a shaky gasp and his internal muscles clamped sharply around him. He pushed inside a few more times, soon finding his own wave to ride and releasing himself inside the blonde. Almost as if they were lovers.

Marik felt Bakura pull out wordlessly, as always, leaving his seed to slicken his thighs, almost always spotted with red. Such was the case at this time. His wrists were released and his arms fell limply to his sides. He heard shuffling, but didn't open his eyes until the door opened, closed, and he was sure Bakura was gone.

He then moaned helplessly and cried into the pillow, even though it reeked of sweat. It had become a custom over the past month. Bakura would tie him up, play with him for a while, and he would spend the next hour or so feeling sorry for himself and cursing his existence. During this time he would always wonder what he had done to deserve all this. Bakura had said it was because he dressed in such slutty clothes, but he knew that couldn't be the case. Was it because he had gone against the gods? Betrayed the pharaoh, turned his scarred back on his duties? Was he finally being punished, and was this his punishment?

He'd never go back to his old life, but now the anguish he'd suffered as a tomb keeper paled in comparison to his knew brand of torture.

He stood up, walking clumsily to the bathroom. Why didn't he just leave? Bakura always disappeared for a few hours once it was done, why didn't Marik just run away and get some help? Ishizu would hardly sit still if he knew what was happening to her little brother night after night. Rishid wouldn't hesitate to snap Bakura in half.

But the truth was, he'd tried. He'd snuck out the very first time Bakura had left him alone. He'd rented a motel room and tried arranging a flight back to Egypt, but before he could even unlock the door, strong arms grabbed him and chloroform dulled his senses. When he woke again, he was back in his bed as if he'd never left.

That wasn't the only time, though. The fourth or fifth time Bakura had grabbed him, he'd fought and struggled violently. Not that he didn't fight each time or anything. That day he just fought more viciously than before, pulling hair, poking eyes, kicking the man's groin, scratching, biting, punching, slapping, thrashing, screaming. He'd been able to break free before anything happened and made a beeline for the door, fleeing outside before Bakura could catch up on his injured foot (which Marik had stabbed with a ballpoint pen). He ran with no real destination, only wanting to get away. It wasn't long before he was lost in the bad part of Domino City, surrounded by a bunch of big smelly thugs. He'd tried fighting them off, but was soon over powered without his Millennium Rod to aid him, forced against the wall and stripped of his trousers.

"Tch. Tought you was a chick," the gang leader growled, looking down in disgust as Marik's manhood.

"Not dat dere's any real difference," one of his cronies chuckled, looking over his boss's shoulder.

Marik tried closing his legs, but they were being held open by men stronger than him. He couldn't move his arms, and he could hardly take in breath through the huge meaty fingers that covered his mouth.

"So whattya gonna do, Red?" another of the punks asked, looking excited at the thought of his superior taking advantage of Marik. "Ya gonna kill 'em?"

"Fool!" the leader snapped, raising a hand at the man. "Why would I waste such a golden opportunity?" He turned to face Marik with a cocky grin. "If I close my eyes, I can pretend he don't have a penis."

Chuckles and hoots rose up from the group behind him.

"Don't tink ya need ta close yer eyes for dat," another member laughed.

"Now, get 'em ready." The leader said, unzipping his pants and pulling them down over his hips. The thugs holding Marik lifted his legs as their leader wiggled in between his thighs. He closed his eyes and braced himself when he felt the man's hips meet his own, trying to ready himself for the unbearable pain that was to come.

It never did come though, for the next thing he knew, the thug yelped and disappeared. The punks dropped him and scattered, yelling curses and crying for their leader. Marik slowly opened his eyes and looked up.

Bakura smiled down at him, probably liking to be able to play the hero for once, even though his hands and shirt were splattered with blood.

"You attract a lot of negative attention, don't you, Marik?" he asked, pulling the boy to his feet and pushing his against the wall. Marik had been too weak to struggle at this point, and Bakura had fucked him in the alley.

There were many more times where he tried to escape. He'd run out and banged on the neighbor's doors, pleading them to call the police. When Bakura had caught up, he'd apologized to the surprised old lady, explaining that Marik had recently suffered a massive head injury and wasn't all there anymore. She looked on in pity as Marik was dragged back to hell.

He'd tried calling the cops himself, but was only able to get ahold of them once. Bakura always disconnected the phone line or passed it off as his "delinquent little brother" playing a prank. When he had finally gotten through, two officers had rushed right over, only to meet their cold and gory end when Bakura had gotten home. After seeing their crippled, bloody bodies and suffering Bakura's wrath, he decided it best not to call his siblings. Not only for their safety, but his own, too.

After several failed attempts at escape, Marik learned that it was unwise to elicit Bakura's anger. He was usually gentle, even when Marik struggled, but when the boy tried to run or get him in trouble, he became hostile.

Oh, so very hostile.

Marik sighed; would he ever be able to get rid of his oppressor?

He flipped on the light switch, turning on the shower to let it heat up. He locked the door after that, making sure it was shut tight. There were few things more painful being raped in the shower, with the water washing off all the natural lubricant. He'd learned that the hard way. There were also few things more painful than being raped with no lubrication at all, which he'd also learned the hard way. He'd been a virgin a little less than two months ago, but already he knew all the tricks of the trade. He'd learned what Bakura's turn ons were and learned to avoid them. He knew that if you arched your back a certain way, you'd feel less pain- he rarely did it. He'd noticed if you squeezed your inner muscles it would make the other person climax faster. Here's one he'd exercised quite often, until Bakura realized what he was doing and always made Marik come before him.

"I hate you," he'd often whisper when they were through.

Every time Bakura would laugh manically. "Then why do you keep letting me do this to you?"

It was a question answered easily enough. "I'm not letting you do anything, you're raping me!" "How am I supposed to make you stop when you always over power me?" But the words always died on Marik's lips.

Maybe he really was letting Bakura do this.

Twenty seven bruises, fourteen scratches, five cuts, two broken nails, two seriously mistreated wrists, and one very abused ass. His injuries had almost doubled since last week, seeing as hardly any wanted to heal this time around. He was just thankful he hadn't been seriously hurt yet. What were a few bumps and bruises as long as there weren't any broken bones or profusely bleeding gashes?

The same could not be said of his mental health. The more Bakura touched him, the less sane he became. Add that to the fact he wasn't completely sane to begin with, he bet he'd be totally crazy within a few months. He needed to get out, but he didn't know how.

Marik dressed and peeked through the crack in the door before slowly leaving the room and making his way cautiously to the kitchen. He heard the TV from the living room, but it didn't mean he was safe. He looked around the corner. Bakura wasn't there. Had he been left alone again? Looking out the window, he saw his motorcycle was still parked in the driveway. Bakura had taken his keys long ago, but he'd never ridden the bike before, preferring to walk everywhere instead. Marik wasn't about to go around the house looking for him. He'd rather be taken by surprise when Bakura walked into the room than create the illusion he acted wanted to see him.

Opening the fridge, he looked around inside, frowning when he saw hardly anything edible. Steak, steak, steak, a few boxes of Chinese takeout, more steak, some other kind of unnamable meat, left over mac and cheese, a few brown bananas, more steak, half carton of milk… Great. Cereal and milk again, he guessed. He wasn't particularly hungry, but the last thing he needed was to lose more weight and die.

Though, death was probably way better than living like this.

This wasn't the first time he'd thought about suicide. It was a regular train of thought that sped through his mind every now and then. Especially after the first time… He'd emptied an entire bottle of sleeping pills into his hand with every intention of swallowing every single one, only to chicken out at the last minute and throw all his medicine away. He thought of easier, less painful ways to do it, almost acted on a few of them. Each time he'd snap out of it before it was too late. But that didn't mean the temptation went away. It stayed there, taunting him calling him weak.

With Bakura's return, those feelings only intensified.

It was crazy. How was it possible for someone to see so much despair and feel so much pain in their life? Marik's whole life had been filled with suffering. What had he done to deserve it? Did the gods just hate him, or was he cursed?

He hated his life. He'd wanted to live under a blue sky, free to travel and do what he wanted, but what was he given? A cold dark tomb, a controlling father, an inevitable fate. When he'd moved in with Bakura, he'd been ecstatic. He'd been crushing on the spirit for a long time, but was always discouraged from telling him by Bakura's selfish demeanor and attitude. He figured if he could show Bakura the softer sides of him, the ones that showed when he wasn't hatching evil schemes, he'd be able to warm him up to the idea of experimenting a little. And where had that gotten him? Enslaved, imprisoned in his own house, a mere sex object for the one he loved.

"Someone looks cranky."

Bakura had a habit of sneaking up on him when he least wanted to see him. Marik didn't know why he didn't pay more attention to his surroundings.

"Shut up," he bit back, closing the silverware drawer harder than necessary. He spooned some frosted flakes into his mouth, trying to ignore the heat of the other man on his back.

"You sound so stressed," Bakura said in a pitying voice, mocking underneath the sourly sweet tone.

"I wonder why," Marik said sarcastically around another spoonful of cereal.

"Is it that time of the month already?"

"Very funny."

"I thought so."

Question: Was it tearing Marik up inside to be teased by Bakura again, taunted as if nothing between them had ever changed?

Answer: Yes.

It broke his heart. To be reminded of what he'd had, what he'd lost, what had been ripped so cruelly from his grasp. The most favored memories of their time together were being dangled in front of him, only to be yanked out of his reach when the present was thrust into his hand.

Bakura's hands ghosted onto his hips, pulling his butt against him as he rested his chin on the Egyptian's shoulder. "Hey," he said in a seductive hiss, "I wanna try something new tonight."

Marik cleared his throat to keep the anger out of his voice, setting his cereal down to he wouldn't be tempted to turn around and hit Bakura in the head with the heavy glass bowl. "Keep your sick fantasies to yourself."

Bakura grinned and whispered it in his ear anyway.

Marik turned his head and gave him a look of horror and disgust. "As if I would _ever_-"

Bakura grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, pinning him against the counter and grabbing his face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "As if you have a _choice_," he growled, his lips brushing Marik's with every syllable. How Marik wanted to crane his neck and bite them off.

Bakura paused, studying Marik for a second with a curious face. Did he finally notice the unkempt hair, the sunken cheeks, the insomnia bags, the thinning frame? Was he finally seeing the suffering in Marik's wide, kohl-smeared eyes, the bruises on his skin? Or was the just considering how to hurt him next?

What Bakura said next was leaning more towards the former, and it surprised the Egyptian. "You're looking a little pale. Are you sick?"

"I…What?"

"Are you getting enough protein in your diet?"

"What?"

"I know, we should go out tonight. Anywhere you want, my treat."

"Heh?"

Bakura gave him an evil grin. "I recently became the owner of a small fortune. I can afford to buy you dinner." Before Marik could make any more of those blissfully unintelligent noises, Bakura grabbed him and started pushing him towards their bedroom. "Now go get dressed. You wouldn't want me to help you, right?"

Marik half-froze. It wasn't necessarily a threat, but with the bedroom growing nearer and nearer, it made his blood run cold.

They reached the bedroom, but Marik made no attempt to enter. Bakura rolled his eyes and opened the door for him, gently pushing him inside. "Hurry and make yourself pretty. All the good tables are probably already taken." He gave Marik one of his rare, charming smiles. "I'll come and get you in half an hour. Will you be done by then?"

"I-…Yes."

Bakura nodded and closed the door.

Marik stared at the door for a whole minute, trying to figure out what had just happened. Bakura suggested something foul, then threatened him, and then…asked him out? None of this made any sense. If Bakura wanted to date him, why didn't he just ask him out in the first place, instead of taking him by force? Was he trying to make up for everything? Rather doubtful. He was probably just trying to lure Marik into a false sense of security. That was the kind of scheming bastard Bakura was.

None the less, Marik finished drying his hair and reapplied his kohl liner. Not knowing what kind of restaurant Bakura was taking him too, he decided to go neutral- a nice short sleeve button down shirt over a plain purple t-shirt and dark slacks. He thought about leaving his jewelry off, but on second thought, put it all on. After some thought, he put on a gold ring with a turquoise stone.

Pronouncing himself ready, he left the room and went into the kitchen to wait for Bakura, but to his surprise, the thief was already there, lounging in one of the dining table chairs. He wore a crimson button-up shirt, top two buttons un-buttoned and showing off his pale collarbone. Tight black pants hugged his thighs and flared out stylishly as they went further down. His hair looked a little tamer than normal but still puffed out in dangerously swooping spikes. There was a small silver chain around his neck, and he too had adorned a ring on his finger, the small stone matching his shirt. When he saw Marik, he grinned and stood up, swinging a leather jacket over his shoulder and taking a long graceful step in Marik's direction. "Beautiful," he complimented, gently kissing the Egyptian's hand. When Marik didn't respond, he smirked and spun around. "Like what you see, Blondie?"

The nickname seemed to rile Marik from his daydreamed. "A little more than I'd like to," he admitted begrudgingly.

Bakura smiled triumphantly. "I definitely like what I see. Your clothes say classy, but your hair and jewelry scream wild."

"Uhm…Thanks," Marik said flatly. He hadn't thought his outfit looked that superb. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"Just tell me. I was wanting a you-free night and the least you can do to make up for dragging me out to hang out with you by telling me where I'll be stuck with you."

"But it will ruin the surprise."

…Was that a pout on Bakura's lip? This was getting creepy. "I'm already surprised enough, trust me. I need to know where we're going, lest I have a heart attack when we get there."

Bakura's shoulders sagged a little in defeat. –Wait, defeat?- "Have you ever heard of the Rickshaw?"

Marik's jaw dropped. Of course he had heard of the Rickshaw. What sane person hadn't? "That's the coolest restaurant in town!" he exclaimed stupidly.

"Only the best for you."

Marik's cheeks heated stubbornly. This was crazy. He was crazy. Either crazy or seriously warped to agree to this… date…thing.

"Are you done being cute? Because if we don't leave now, all the good tables will be gone."

Marik looked at him and sighed, turning towards the back door.

Bakura gave him a weird look. "Where are you going?"

"We're taking my motorcycle…Aren't we?"

Bakura held up a set of car keys and smiled. "Not tonight."

**There, Sae, get off my back. **

**Though, I really do hate that ending. IT WAS ELEVEN PAGES ON WORD. :p I HAD TO END IT SOMEHOW. Took forever to type up. **

**Bakura was as bipolar as Kansas weather in this chapter. **

**Marik is the poor state going along for the ride. **

…**Damn my analogies suck.**

**Sooooo, Ryou should appear sometime in the next chapter. Not sure when, but he will. THIS. IS. ANGSTSHIPPING. By the way. :3 **


	3. Dinnerdate Disasters

Bakura smirked, glancing at the Egyptian in the passenger's seat. He'd been floored when he found out Bakura could drive, and drive quite well, let alone have the decency to rent a car. Except he hadn't really rented it. Some other fool had. Rented the car, put the keys in the ignition, then went back to get the coat he'd forgotten inside…when he got back, the car was gone. But no need to tell Marik all that.

So now they cruised down the streets of Domino in silence, Marik's violet eyes on the road, his hands folded in his lap, Bakura's eyes shifting from the road to Marik and back again, trying to drink up the sight of him in semi-formal clothes and not get them killed at the same time. Oh, but it was hard. The street was so gray and boring, whereas every time he glanced at Marik, he found something new. His eyes were lidded with boredom, but he was gently chewing his lip. He was sitting back in the seat, looking rather relaxed, except he was twiddling his thumbs together. His legs were crossed, right over left, and Bakura could see his foot bouncing. He was nervous. How cute.

A few minutes later they were rolling into the Rickshaw's parking lot. Bakura was surprised at how few cars there were. Only fifteen, at the most. The restaurant usually got fifty a night. Oh well. Not like it mattered anyway. This was they could get a good table without waiting all night. And the lack of a crowd could be quite useful if they were blessed with a table in a dark corner.

Marik unbuckled his seat belt as soon as they had stopped, but hesitated as he rested his hand on the handle. Bakura had actually brought him to a restaurant. Not a sleazy motel, not a sex shop, but a restaurant. The most celebrated restaurant in town, too. He looked out the car window at the two story brick building, wondering what it was like on the inside. Then he wondered how Bakura knew about it if all he did with his free time was plot revenge and molest him.

He was pulled from his thoughts when his door opened. Bakura smiled down at him. "Are you going to get out, or should we just eat in the car?" he teased.

Marik flushed and stepped out. "I was just waiting to see if you were a gentleman or not," he said indignantly. Bakura smirked as if to say "yeah right". They walked towards the restaurant side by side, but as they approached the door, Bakura sped ahead and opened it for him, playing around with the whole gentleman thing.

"My dear," he said as Marik stopped before the doorway, bowing his head a bit. Marik rolled his eyes and went in. No doubt he'd try to pull his chair out for him, but if he even thought of ordering for him Marik would kill him.

They stopped in front of the Please Wait to Be Seated sign. A wall displaying awards, food critic's columns, and "Rickshaw in the news" separated them from half the dining room. Probably the private party side. All the tables he saw were either empty or had a small group of silently talking friends or the like seated around them. Marik looked around, quite impressed with the décor. The building had a high ceiling with tons of modern chandeliers, casting the room in soft yellows and blues. The walls were black with white patterns, pictures of famous people and historical places hanging almost randomly around the room. There were some exotic plants here and there, their scents mixing with the food, and a staircase at the far side of the room led up to a balcony, where more tables and people sat, enjoying the view of the other patrons.

It wasn't the coolest restaurant in town for nothing.

They stood there for a few more minutes, Bakura seemingly bored and Marik looking around excitedly, before a waitress walked around the corner and greeted them.

"Table for two?" she inquired, looking over them with a small smile.

"Yes," Bakura answered.

A thought struck Marik then. Oh, Ra! People would see them together, see them alone, with no one else… They'd be sitting at a table with only two chairs, probably murmuring softly for fear of being over heard. They were too good looking to go on a dinner date by themselves without any women to tag along...

In more comprehensible words, PEOPLE WOULD THINK THEY WERE GAY!

Now he knew why they were here. Bakura wanted to confuse him! Well, he wouldn't be so easily manipulated.

He was so caught up on his thoughts he hardly noticed when the waitress deposited them at one of the booths in the corner, with the promise that someone would be with them shortly. He'd just slid into the seat automatically. At least there were no chairs for Bakura to try and pull out.

Speaking of Bakura, he could feel the man's eyes on him. He tried to ignore him, but after a while he grew restless under his gaze. He turned his attention away from the salt shaker and towards the pale man instead. His curt "what" died in his throat when he saw how Bakura looked in the light. It had turned his hair and skin totally azure while his shirt had turned purple and his eyes black. Those eyes were watching him intently, chin resting in his palm.

"What?" he tried again, his voice wavering a bit.

"Nothing. Just appreciating the atmosphere."

Marik wouldn't admit that he wanted to do the same, so he returned his gaze to the salt shaker, wondering how many salt crystals were in there for lack of anything more intelligent to do.

"Hello there, and welcome to the Rickshaw," their waitress said a few minutes later. Of course she was reciting the greeting, but for whatever reason, she sounded sincerely happy to welcome them to the restaurant. "I'm Tobi and I'll be your waitress this evening. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll have some iced tea," Bakura answered after some thought. The waitress nodded and turned to Marik.

Asking what they had seemed childish. "Uh…me too."

The waitress nodded and left.

Marik sat back for a second, then leaned forward again. "I didn't know you liked ice tea," he said, just needing something to kill the awkward silence.

Bakura gave him a strange look. "You didn't?"

"Well…No. I've never seen you drink it."

Bakura chuckled a little. "Well, yes, I do like it."

Their conversation ground to another painful halt after that, seeing as Marik could make no quick reply to that. Luckily for him, Tobi returned with their drinks and menus, saving him from having to make a comeback. He opened his menu, looking his options for a salad without meat. Why'd they even put meat in salads, anyway?

"See anything you like?" Bakura asked, probably hating the silence as much as he was.

"Oh, I don't know. They have a few salads, but all of them come with either chicken or fish."

"So you'll be eating more grass tonight."

Marik looked up from his menu to glare at the other man. "It's not grass. Its lettuce, carrots, and other vegetables like that. And you never know. I might order some soup."

Bakura hummed, obviously uninterested.

Another silence was impregnated.

Marik tapped his finger against the table, wishing their waitress would come back and take their order. He never imagined it would be this awkward being with Bakura. But it was, as long as they were just sitting there silently, each concentrating on their own thoughts. Marik was trying to act as normal as possible around his old friend, but knowing how impossible that was after everything that had happened between them, everything Bakura had done, everything Marik hadn't done, made it all so bloody uncomfortable.

Damn it, now he'd gotten himself depressed again.

He'd sworn to himself on the car ride over here he wouldn't think of anything but the present. He'd forget everything bad and try to enjoy himself, even if it was all just a trick. And if it wasn't, and Bakura was really trying to make it up to him…well, maybe this was something he had to look forward to, only with more talking and smiling. And if it was neither door A or B, then this date was still a taste of what he could've had.

_What he could've had…_

It seemed like hours until Tobi returned, and even longer for her to bring their food, though it couldn't have been more than eighteen minutes.

Marik dipped his spoon into his potato and leek soup, just now realizing how hungry he was. His stomach sounded like a rabid dog. He hoped Bakura couldn't hear it as he spooned the first bite into his mouth.

Mmmm…Five stars.

They ate in silence, both either feeling too weird to speak or enjoying their meal so much the silence was irrelevant. Or maybe Bakura was too busy being distracted with his own thoughts to try and have a conversation with him.

'Not much of a date.'

Marik's eye twitched as the word _date _echoed around his skull. Was this even considered a date? They weren't talking, they weren't even looking at each other anymore. He hadn't even been properly asked out.

"Hey, Bakura," he said softly, twirling the last dozen spoonful's of soup around absent mindedly. Bakura looked up from his beef Carpaccio, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Marik almost lost his nerve when the other's dark eyes turned to him, but he didn't look away. "Why did you invite me here?"

Bakura looked almost caught off guard by the question. "I just wanted a change of pace, I guess."

Marik tried to keep his disappointment in check. "Is that all?"

Bakura gave him another strange look. "Yeah. Why?"

The Egyptian opened his mouth to answer truthfully, but then changed his mind. "No reason," he said, eating another spoonful. Bakura probably wouldn't take it very well if Marik told him he thought this was all a trick.

Their waitress returned a few minutes later with the bill. Bakura paid the amount due, and to Marik's surprise, laid down a pretty generous tip.

The night air bit at Marik's arms, making him shiver a bit. There were a few clouds in the sky, the moon hardly a slit in its waxing crescent form. Stars sprinkled the indigo blanket above them, winking in and out of sight as the two men walked back to their car.

"Hey," Bakura said suddenly, making Marik stop. "There's a bar over there." He motioned to a building across the street.

"So?"

"So, do you want to go?"

Marik pondered the invitation for a second. He hadn't really thought of Bakura as the drinking type, and he wasn't really one himself. Sure, he'd gotten drunk once or twice before, but he wasn't too fond of the taste, much less the hangovers that came later.

Oh well, he needed a buzz.

"Sure."

He'd just started walking when a thought made him stop in his tracks. "Wait, Bakura."

The man turned around, looking tired.

"I can't. I'm underage."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

Bakura paused, looking him over. "Whatever. You look twenty one. If you play it cool you won't get carded." He grabbed the boy's arm and began pulling him towards the bar.

"Okay, but if I get in trouble with the cops, I am so telling them you've raped me."

Bakura slowed to a stop and looked at him.

Marik shivered under his gaze. "I'm just kidding. C'mon." Now Marik was doing the pulling. He could feel Bakura staring at him. He couldn't help but feel like he'd ruined the evening.

~.~.~.~

Bakura was pretty much back to normal (as normal as he could ever be) but the time they'd gotten their drinks and sat at the far end of the bar, farthest away from all the lonely men, lonely women, and lonely men and women looking wanting the company of each other. Marik stared into his umbrella drink, feeling kind of gay for getting such a fruity and deluded drink, and a lot balless for not getting an actual beer.

Whatever. A buzz was a buzz.

He sipped hesitantly at the drink, never having tasted strawberry daiquiri before, but finding he quite liked the taste and the way it burned at his tongue. He took another larger sip and looked around. The bar was pretty average, with checkerboard linoleum and both dim and neon lights, but also having a small stage next to a slightly larger dance floor. Bodies moved to techno beats that played from some secret location as lights pulsed. Marik could feel the alcohol starting to work its charm, and he turned back before he had a seizure or something.

Come round three, both had loosened up enough to actually carry out a real conversation. Marik was actually on his fourth daiquiri, while Bakura had just started sucking down his third bud light, they were asking each other silly questions that made the Egyptian giggle into his drink.

"Okay, okay, I got one," he said, and Bakura leaned closer to hear him. "If you could have any superpower in the whole wide world, _ever_, what would it be and why?" He stumbled over his words and ended up giggling even more.

"I hardly think we would need super powers with the Millennium Items, Marik." Bakura's voice was steadier that his, but he still sounded a little drunk.

"Well, I mean if there were no Items or anything."

"Then I would want to be able to turn my hair flaps into wings." He reached up and stroked the strange flaps on the side of his head.

"Really?"

"Of course not. I'd want something badass like shadow manipulation or the ability to shape shift and shit like that." He took a pull from the bottle. "And what about you?"

Marik thought about it, lazily licking the rim of his glass. "I'd like some badass power too. Like…Mind control or something. I always loved that one."

"Marik?"

The blonde looked over at him, having been about to ask for another daiquiri. "Huh?"

"You can already control minds. Your Rod, remember?"

"…Oh yeah," Marik grinned.

They both chuckled. Marik was feeling so blissfully scatterbrained right now. He didn't know how he'd gotten so drunk on 30% alcohol per glass and only four glasses, but he loved it. His worries were diminished, his cares to far away. It felt almost normal the way they were talking now, only more slurred and random. He felt so supremely awesome right now. He could probably have sloppy drunken sex with Bakura right there in the bathroom and not even care.

No…

He stopped his train of thought there, putting down his glass as the grin slipped from his face. He'd never have sex with Bakura, even if he was drunk off his ass. Face it, the bastard had probably ruined sex for him anyway.

"Wow!" a voice said behind him. Both he and Bakura turned and looked at a surprised man walking towards them. No, wait…Towards Marik.

"How do you _do_ that?" the man inquired, sounding amazed as he sat down beside the Egyptian.

"Do what?" Marik asked, seriously confused. The man smiled, and Marik noticed how good looking he was. Short blond hair, green eyes, a light tan with attractive tan lines.

"Look that good, of course."

"I am Marik Ishtar! Looking good is just one of my many careers!" he said proudly, ignoring Bakura's amused snort.

"Awesome. You do it quite well. I'm Hayata." He leaned closer, giving Bakura a wary eye. "And between you and me, I'm single."

Marik opened his mouth to reply, but Bakura put his hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

"And he's not," he growled, giving Hayata a death glare.

Marik shrugged Bakura's hand off him, turning back to Hayata with an apologetic smile. "He wishes." The Egyptian was ignoring how obviously Hayata was flirting with him, deciding to play a little game on Bakura. "He'd kill me if I told you this, but he's way too pissy for me. Like, a wet cat with permanent PMS or something."

Hayata laughed. "I can believe it!" He was about to call over the bartender when he noticed Marik's glass was almost empty. "Hey, can I buy you another?" He offered.

Marik smiled drunkenly, knowing full well Bakura was hanging off their every word. "Sure, that'd be awesome."

Hayata motioned the bartender over, and he had their drinks prepared within the next minute. He set both glasses on the bar, but as Marik reached for his fifth drink that night, Hayata grabbed it.

"Mind if I take a sip?" he asked, flashing a charming smile.

"Uh…Sure. Just don't drink all of it."

Hayata brought the glass to his lips, taking the smallest sip imaginable. "Wow, that's good," he said, putting it back on the bar and sliding it back to Marik with his fingers resting on the lip of the cup.

"I know, it's totally addicting!" Marik agreed, raising the glass for another drink, only to be stopped when Bakura put a hand on his. "Bakura, what-"

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" the albino demanded, his voice mirroring the dangerous tone he'd used with Marik so many times before. Only this time, it sounded far more furious, and he was talking to Hayata.

Hayata gave him a skeptical look. "I don't know what you mean. I only took a sip."

"Cut the crap, you know what I mean!"

Hayata's eyes flashed dangerously before going back to being confused.

"No, I really don't." His eyes turned to Marik. "Oh, now I do. This is about me hitting on your would-be boyfriend, isn't it?"

In a second Bakura had ripped the strawberry daiquiri from Marik's hand, thrown it in Hayata's face and punched the man right in the diaphragm, making him slump to the floor with a pained groan.

"It's not about taking my would-be boyfriend. It's about you trying to take what's already mine!"

Marik's drunken brain finally turned back on. "Bakura!" He shouted, moving towards them. "What the hell are you doing?"

Before the spirit could answer, the bartender cut him off. "Hey! There's no fighting in this bar! If you wanna start something, do it outside!"

Bakura looked at Hayata, who was still moaning helplessly on the floor, and grabbed Marik, taking off towards the exit.

Once outside he didn't stop until they'd reached the car, and even then he drove as is he was only half there. This half being the worst side of Bakura, who anger and hatred controlled. Marik leaned back in his seat as if trying to hide, too afraid to look at Bakura and ask what was wrong. He had already guessed what had set him off, but he had been sure his stupid flirting with Hayata would've only gotten him some teasing, a little reminder of what used to be. Especially with how well the night had been going until then.

What a buzz kill…

He chanced a glance at Bakura; his eyes were on the road, but it was obvious he was seeing something else.

He tried to think of what he had done to make Bakura so upset, but whatever came to him didn't make sense. Sure he had kinda flirted with the guy and let him taste his drink, but it wasn't like he has done any serious flirting. And besides, Bakura had punched Hayata, not Marik. So he had to be pissed off at the other man.

They were one block away from their house when Marik finally worked up enough courage to speak. "Hey Bakura? Why'd you get so pissed off back there?"

If only it had come out that smoothly. He stuttered a little due to nervousness and the fading effects of the alcohol.

Bakura sighed through this nose, his hands tightening on the wheel. "Just drop it, Marik. It's not important."

"Not important? We got kicked out because of you."

"I _punched_ him. You've seen me _kill_ people before."

"Yeah, but…" Marik saw Bakura give him a look. "Still, I want to know why you had to punch him."

Bakura gritted his teeth and turned sharply into their drive way, making Marik, who had neglected to put his seat belt on, fall hard into the door.

The boy winced, but looked at his old friend stubbornly. "I'm not dropping this," he warned as Bakura took the keys from the ignition.

"Yeah, kinda thought you wouldn't."

They were both silent until the door closed behind them. "Okay, now tell me why you punched him."

Bakura groaned. "Why? Why do I have to explain myself to you?"

Marik flinched back at Bakura's tone. "I…You don't have to tell me. I just wanted to know more from curiosity than anything."

He expected Bakura to walk away and disappear, but instead he turned around quickly and met Marik's eyes his own fiery, very-much pissed off ones.

"He put something in your drink, alright? A few little white pills. What else should I have done?"

Marik paused, a little flattered that Bakura would actually defend him. Even so, he couldn't bite back his comment. "Why didn't you just let me get all roofied up and bring me home for yourself?"

"Idiot!" Bakura stopped into the living room. "Just think for once!"

Marik followed him. "Damn it, Bakura, I've been thinking all fucking night, and I'm still confused as fuck about all your fucking mood swings!"

Bakura glared at him. "Then I overestimated your intelligence."

"You did _not_ just call me stupid."

"I believe I just did." Bakura turned to leave again, but Marik but him off.

"Stop making a federal case out of me asking and just fucking tell me!" he grabbed Bakura's shirt. "You can do that much, can't you?"

Bakura looked down at him, and Marik swore he saw those eyes soften…until Bakura slapped his hands away and pushed him into the nearest wall. "Don't think you've broken me. I'm choosing to tell you."

Marik's breath hitched. He hated it when was trapped between Bakura and a wall.

Bakura rested his arm on the wall to the right of Marik's head, leaning close but never touching. He let out a breath. "I'm sorry for losing my temper," he said uncharacteristically. "I just don't want anything happening to you if I'm not the one doing it. I don't want you to belong to anyone else but me. I claimed you first; no one else should be allowed to _look_ at you. You are _mine_."

Marik closed his eyes, expecting something far worse than what happened next.

Bakura reached down and grabbed his hands, threading their fingers together and gently pinning them against the wall, bending to press his forehead to Marik's. The Egyptian's eyes shot open at the contact, meeting soft brown eyes that didn't belong to the monster in front of him. "And I love you," that monster whispered, warm breath rolling over his lips.

Marik stared back, eyes wide and shocked beyond comprehension until Bakura leaned in and claimed his mouth. It wasn't like all the others that he'd forced against Marik's lips. This one was unexpectedly sweet and gentle, Bakura sighing as he slowly moved his lips against Marik's, trying to coax his to respond. He pulled back and smiled at Marik's still-shocked expression, seeing all sorts of emotions in those unsure lavender eyes.

"I love you," he said again, cementing it, leaning down for another chaste kiss. Marik closed his eyes, enjoying it while it lasted. But then Bakura kissed him again, with more passion than the others. It lacked the reckless aggression Bakura usually kissed him with, but still had traces of the possessiveness. He ran his tongue along the crease of the blonde's lips, Marik opening up for him a second later. Bakura pressed in, kissing him deeply, and Marik, against his better judgment, kissed him back, running his fingers through the white hair he so long ago wanted to touch. It felt so much silkier than he's imagined, and he rolled a few strands between his fingers, liking the feeling.

Bakura continued to kiss him, moaning softly as Marik's timid fingers played in his hair. Their mouths moved together so perfectly. Marik still tasted of the fruity drink he'd had at the bar, the flavor making the kiss all the more erotic. He shifted his hips, putting a leg between Marik's and pressing it into his groin. The Egyptian gasped around Bakura's mouth, gently pulling his hair in surprise. He pressed his knee in again. Marik broke their kiss, leaning his head back against the wall and moaning loudly. Bakura removed the golden choker and attacked the bronze skin underneath. Meanwhile his hands were massaging circles on Marik's lower back, moving lower with each second.

Marik could hardly believe himself. Pressed against the wall by the man who had raped him so many times, wantonly kissing and grinding against him, as if he'd turned into the slut Bakura had accused him of being. But he was so hot, and it felt so good. Bakura had never made him feel like this before, except maybe in dreams and those occasional showers he'd take with the bathroom radio on full blast. Sure the man always made him cum, but it was always a guilty, shameful release. He wanted to cum like they did in romance novels, like he did in his dreams. Consensual and earth-shattering.

He felt his zipper going down, and he was all but blown back to reality. It was Bakura he was grinding on, Bakura who was licking and nipping at his neck, Bakura who was fishing him out of his pants. He had to remember what this bastard had done to him and stop him before he ended up giving him exactly what he wanted. Gathering his courage, he pushed Bakura away with a firm "No!"

"What?" Bakura demanded as Marik stood there shaking.

"I said no! Have you forgotten what you've done to me? You've beaten and raped me dozens of times. And you expect an awkward dinner date and a few beers will make up for that? Make me want to sleep with you the same night? I'm not that easy!"

Bakura was silent, obviously biting back some kind of snide comment. Marik continued, shaking angrily.

"And why did you tell me you love me? Huh? Fucking someone against their will isn't a way to prove you love someone! You have to be insane to see that logically. What, did you just say it to confuse me? Did you think I would be so struck by your confession, I'd fall head over heels in love with you and forgive everything you're done? It's going to take more than a few stupid words to make me forgive all the pain you've caused me! What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

Bakura stared at him, looking bored. His silence only angered Marik further. He grabbed Bakura's shirt, shaking the unfazed man and screaming in his face. "Stop staring at me like that and answer my damn questions! Why the hell are you trying to act so nice all of a sudden? Taking me out to dinner and punching some asshole for me and calling me all those cutesy names! When you've been a total asshole up till now! Can't you be consistent for _once_?"

Marik's throat was so sore now. He was biting back tears, not looking away from Bakura's cold, untouched eyes. He dropped his head to the man's chest, crying pathetically, expecting no comfort, and receiving none. He just wanted Bakura to _see_. See how much he'd hurt Marik, how much Marik had loved him, how much he still loved him.

Bakura's hands finally grabbed his, and he flinched. "You want consistency?" he growled, that dangerous voice returning. "Alright." He spun around and fell back into an arm chair, pulling Marik along so he fell to his knees in front of him. One hand was holding Marik's wrist, the other moved to his zipper.

Marik realized what he was doing a second too late. "No! No! I said _no_!" He tried pulled away with each 'no', then struggled some more, but Bakura's grip was firm. He grabbed a fist full of blond hair with his free hand, pushing Marik's face into his lap.

"And I said you had no choice," he snarled, pulling himself free of his boxers. Marik was disgusted to see he was completely hard. "And who knows? If you're good, I might go easy on you." He brought Marik's face closer. "And don't even think of biting me, or you will regret it."

~.~.~.~

Marik ignored the pain of the plastic bristles, only scrubbing his tongue harder, trying to get the taste and feel of Bakura's dick out of his mouth. That bastard had forced Marik into blowing him, going as far as to threaten his life when he didn't comply right away. Disgusting. Even more disgusting than that was how he'd praised Marik all the way through it, making him swallow when he finally came.

Marik struck the back of his throat with the toothbrush, which resulted in several minutes of painful gagging. He spit out the toothpaste, not caring that he was scrubbing his gums raw. He just squeezed more toothpaste directly into his mouth, going right back to work, trying to ignore how much the foam and blood in the sink resembled what was always left after _it_.

Thankfully, _it_ hadn't happened tonight. Bakura had been satisfied with just a blow job and had disappeared again. (Or he had just been turned off by watching Marik sobbing and choking on spit and cum). In which case, Marik would have to pretend to choke more often.

Marik let out a spiteful little chuckle and look up at his reflection. A familiar looking shell met his gaze. The boy in the mirror had blood shot eyes and tear-stained cheeks, toothpaste covering the lower half of his face. He'd even gotten some on his shirt. Marik grabbed a towel and looked down to clean it off, a wave of nausea crashing over him when he was it wasn't toothpaste.

He gagged on his toothbrush again, this time his stomach succeeding in bringing something back up. The taste was in his mouth again, only this time it was mixed with stomach acid.

He looked at the mess in the sink, his knees instantly going weak. He had to support himself with his hands on either side of the counter. He let out a hiccup, and a parade of sobs soon followed. He couldn't believe this. It had been going so well. It had almost been back to normal, then he had to go and open his big, fat, stupid, brainless mouth and say anything and everything to piss Bakura off!

Another wave of nausea hit him, and he flung himself from the sink to the toilet, raising the lid right on time. He coughed and spat, only to gag and puke again.

He moaned and flushed when it was finally over, sitting back and sobbing, too weak to do anything else. He didn't know how long he sat there, but once he was strong enough to stand, he rinsed out his mouth, cleaned out the sink and finally struggled back into his room. The only think he had to look forward to now was that Bakura didn't sleep in the same room with him anymore. In fact, Marik didn't even know where he slept now. Probably hung himself upside down in a closet somewhere.

He crawled into bed, still in his clothes, feeling terribly dirty as the sheets rubbed against him. He hadn't had time to change the sheets today, but he refused to sleep in Bakura's clean, semen-free, sweat-free, blood-free bed. He already knew it would take forever to get to sleep anyway, if he ever did at all. Bakura's smell would just aid the insomnia with provoking fond memories and even more guilt.

He closed his eyes and struggled in, trying to ignore the stench of his own blankets. They used to smell of lavender detergent, and even on the most sleepless nights, all he had to do was push his head into the pillow and listen to Bakura's quiet breathing, and he'd be asleep in minutes. But now, both comforts were gone.

Hours had passed and he was finally drifting off when he heard soft foot steps outside his door. He wouldn't have even heard them if he hadn't gotten used to Bakura's night time sneak attacks. The man had taken the lock off the door long ago, so there was nothing left to do but listen to the footsteps and wait for the man to take him again.

Wait. Why should he just roll over and be a bitch? He could fight back. He was Marik Ishtar, the man who carried the pharaoh's secrets on his back, the owner of the Millennium Rod, leader of the Ghouls, the man who would become the pharaoh and shape the world in his image. Why lie down and let Bakura fuck him when he could kill his partner here and now?

Sliding out of bed as quietly as he could, he unplugged the desk lamp and tip toed over to the door with it, hiding behind the door with the lamp raised.

The footsteps stopped right outside his door. He held his breath, tightening his grip on the lamp.

The door knob turned…

The door swung open…

He jumped out from behind the door when Bakura watched in, giving a battle cry as he raised the lamp high above his head. Bakura spun around and screamed, falling backwards as he tripped over some unknown object.

"No, don't kill me!" he begged, covering his head with his hands. "I'm sorry for intruding! I was looking for help! I don't know how I got here!"

Marik paused, lowering the lamp as he looked closer. This person looked exactly like Bakura, but it definitely wasn't him. His hair was a little neater and he looked way shorter, not to mention weaker, and his voice was much too high. To top it, Bakura never cowered. Especially to Marik.

"You're not Bakura," he said, coming to the sudden realization.

The light looked up at him fearfully, nodding. "I'm-"

"You're the other Bakura!" Marik cut him off, pointing with his free hand while the lamp fell to his side.

The smaller one could only nod again.

Marik stared at him for a moment. He'd only met the other Bakura once, but where, he couldn't remember. To be honest, he'd been around Bakura so much he had completely forgotten about the thief's host. But now it felt like he was seeing a long lost friend. He dropped the lamp, falling to his knees in front of the other boy. He couldn't control his tears. His salvation was here at last…

"A-are you okay?" the other Bakura asked, still fearful, but clearly concerned. He reached out to comfort his would-be killer, only to yelp and yank his hand back when Marik grabbed his shoulders, bringing him close and shaking him.

"Don't let him come back!" he cried, looking just as afraid as the other Bakura felt. "Please! Don't ever let him come back!" He seemed to pass out then, falling into the lighter Bakura's arms.

The last thing he saw before the world went black was wide, concerned mocha eyes and a frantically moving mouth that made no sound.

.~.~.~.

**Eh? I told you Ryou would show up in this chapter. Everyone who thought different owes me a cookie. **

**Anyway, I know this isn't making much sense…Especially with that kiss (damn, at that point I really wanted to write Ryou out of the plot and make this all thiefshipping. But I didn't, cause I'm nice) Anyway, what we have here going on with Marik is a bit of Stockholm syndrome and some confused Lima syndrome. You all know what that is right? Okay then : D Uhm…Problem solved, everything makes sense. **

**If only it were that easy…**

**I like Marik's rant. I wish I had had the nerve to say it **

**And about the beers and stuff- I dunno how many beers someone has to have before they're drunk so… Yeah, deal with the inaccuracies. I've only ever had strawberry daiquiri (hence Marik's drink of choice) and I didn't get drunk…So…Yeah. Again. **

**So I pushed this monster out for you in five days. Yes, five days. The only reason it took so long to upload was because was freaking out on me again But anyway, you're very welcome. It pretty much wrote itself. I was pretty astonished with the speed in which this one went by, but now that I look back on it, I think I should've given it more time. Part four will take FOREVER, caz, ya know…kinda the most important chapter, so until then, I leave you on the yummy cliffhanger. :3 Because it's what I'm good at.**


	4. The Other Side Of The Coin

Bakura (Ryou Bakura, that is) looked down at the Egyptian lying unconscious against his chest. To say he was confused was a cruel understatement. The poor boy didn't know where he was, how long he'd been here, or who the man on him was. In fact, the only thing he could be sure of was his own identity, and even that was stretching it, seeing as this boy had confused him for his other half.

Speaking of his other half, this stranger seemed deathly afraid of him. Why, Ryou didn't know, but considering the spirit's disposition towards his own host, his fear was justified. He shivered just thinking what kind of abuse the spirit could and would put another person through.

He gently poked the other boy, trying to remember if he'd ever seen him before. If the spirit hung out with him a lot, he was sure they would've met at least once. He couldn't be sure since his memory was full of black spots right now.

"Uhm, excuse me," Ryou whispered, attempting to wake the slumbering Egyptian again. He was starting to get heavy and Ryou didn't feel like spending all night underneath him. He shook his shoulders gently, and when that didn't work, he just pushed him off.

He winced when the boy hit the floor, automatically opening his mouth to apologize before he remembered he was unconscious. He looked at said unconscious teen, wondering how his fall hadn't woken him up. He guessed he would just have to wait until he woke up himself. But he couldn't leave him on the floor until then.

He stood up and put his hands under the Egyptian's arms, struggling a little to pull him up. Once he was somewhat on his feet, Ryou directed him onto the nearest bed. As soon as his head rested on the case-less pillow, Ryou stood back, taking in his surroundings and trying to remember if he'd ever been here before. There were a few posters and pictures on the walls, but these were meaningless to him. He had no memories of this room, just like the rest of the house.

He gave one last look at the boy, trying desperately to remember his name, if he even knew it at all.

Shaking his head when he got no realistic results, he left the room in search of something more familiar. He closed the door softly, wondering why he even bothered, since the boy inside was currently dead to the world and then some. He could probably go through and break everything in the house and the Egyptian would still slumber on. But he wouldn't do that because it was vandalism and he could get arrested and he already felt like a criminal just standing there.

Wait. Could it be that the spirit was actually in the process of robbing this poor boy blind? He looked at his hands as if they were covered with something foul. It made the angry and fearful look the tan boy had when he'd raised the lamp to strike Ryou make sense.

But no...

_Don't let him come back! Please, don't ever let him come back!_

This boy obviously knew his yami, and subsequently feared him on a rather high level.

But it still made no sense! Why was he here in the first place, why was the spirit letting him roam free, why couldn't he have a normal life for five freaking hours?

He was suddenly aware of something heavy around his neck, metal clinking against metal as something tapped against his chest. He looked down and saw the Millennium Ring swinging almost rhythmically to his now labored breathing. _Well, at least it's not embedded in my chest again..._ Scowling slightly, he lifted the leather cord off his neck and held it away from his body. He'd tried to get rid of it before, so many times...But it always came right back to him, along with one very pissed off inhabitant.

But he'd learned that if he took it off and didn't stray too far, he remained generally un-possessed. However, he was still not 100% sure of this, since there had been times when the spirit had taken control of his body without the ring connecting him.

Shaking his head, he placed the ring on a table around the corner, opting to remain otherwise ignorant to the power its -his- tenant had. He continued on to what seemed to be a living room, if the TV and couch didn't make it shockingly obvious. He looked around, finding the couch, TV and an armchair in the corner were the only pieces of furniture the room had to offer, and the walls, a grayish-beige color, were decorated with even less. There was nothing in here that could help him, so he dared to venture into the kitchen.

He found it relatively clean, aside from a small pile of dishes by the sink and a few paper towels ad bags thrown carelessly on the floor and counters. There were notes taped to the cupboards and what appeared to be shopping lists stuck to the fridge with magnets. (Actual magnets that seemed to have been ripped from toys, not the cute alphabet kind or any of their homey kin.)

Even so, he wondered fearfully if the spirit lived with the boy, or was something more than a roommate, more than a friend...

He immediately shook the thought from his head, quite literally, making his snowy hair whip back and forth. That was _his_ body he was imagining with the boy, no matter how much it seemed to alter when the spirit took control.

But no, the boy seemed too scared out of his mind for Ryou to picture him in any kind of positive relationship with his yami. Unless he was beaten, which was a distinct possibility. Ryou _had_ seen a few bruises on the Egyptian's arms, but had thought nothing of it at the time. Now he couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for him, knowing first hand how much pain his yami could put someone through.

He opened the fridge, his throat suddenly dry. It didn't help that there was hardly anything edible or drinkable on the shelves or in the drawers, just some milk and a few cans of beer.

He grabbed the milk, checking the sell-by date subconsciously. This would do, even though he wasn't that fond of milk. The closed the door and came face to face with a large calender he hadn't seen before. His eyes automatically locked onto it, searching for some indication of date. They didn't have any specific dates marked, nor did they cross out the days gone by. Though it was still August, he saw with relief. He remembered getting ready for school on August third, walking to school by himself, only to be caught up in Yuugi's heard of friends on their mad dash to class. He'd paid attention and taken notes like always, copied the homework assignments. He'd hung at the edge of Yuugi's group after school, laughing at the jokes that were told, but too afraid to add in his own. Then they said their goodbyes, and Ryou tore away from the group and then, and then...

And then what?

He stared at the calender, silently asking it what had happened while he'd been sleeping. Of course it didn't answer; it was only paper and ink.

And, to his dismay, from 2010.

What? Had he been asleep for a year?

No, wait, it had been 2010 when he'd gotten ready for school and met up with his friends. So they had forgotten to change the calender. At least he knew the year now, haha.

He put the milk back in the fridge, not as thirsty and he had originally thought. Though he was never one to snoop, he continued his exploration, his search leading him back to the hallway he'd woken up in Four doors, one open, and at the end of the hall another large room he wasn't sure the purpose of. There was a king sized beg on its side against the wall, three different dressers, a trunk, a long table, a desk with an old metal rolling chair, and a lot of other miscellaneous junk. He figured it was a type of storage room, since there were also numerous doors on the other side of the room like some kind of closet.

He turned back into the hallway, not even sure what he was looking for anymore, just needing something to distract his brain from its own thoughts. Two of the four doors were locked. The third was just another spare room it seemed with some old exercise equipment. While the one that had been open was the bathroom. He peeked inside, not knowing what to expect. He moved inside, looking around at the clean white walls and plain decor. The sink was a white and brown marble top. Odd choice, when he thought about it. A little ironic, really. He admired it a few seconds more before looking up to study the mirror, recoiling with a yelp when he saw the glare his reflection wore.

"Landlord!" he him in the mirror hissed, and it became apparent his reflection wasn't his own. He almost chuckled. In all the ways his "tenant" hand contacted him in the past, this was definitely a first.

"What do you think you're doing?" the spirit continued to growl, leaning towards him in a way that made Ryou afraid he'd pop out of the mirror any second.

"I-I...How should I know?" he snapped back. He usually didn't back sass his yami; his scars would always tingle dangerously when he did, and now was no exception. But seriously, he'd been asleep for who knows how long, while the spirit just paraded around in his body, not caring about him or his reputation or his life at all. He was getting sick of the spirit-whatever his real name was, because it certainly wasn't Bakura!- using other people and treating his friends like trash. Sure he'd gotten angry at the spirit before, but somehow that always happened when he wasn't the one in control. But maybe with the thief trapped in the ring or the mirror or where ever else he could have been trapped instead of Ryou's body, he could finally give the glowering reflection a piece of his mind.

"The last thing I remember I'm enjoying a peaceful walk home, and the next I'm in some unfamiliar house with a crazy Egyptian trying to kill me with a lamp because he thought I was you, and not the smallest hint as to where I am or what day it is or anything!"

He found himself panting a little at the end, and he hoped that the spirit's closed eyes and slightly twitching lips meant he'd gotten the desired effect.

He was about to pat himself on the back when the thief let out a thunderous laugh that had Ryou flinching back in shock.

"Oh my gods!" the spirit exclaimed, coming down out of the rafters. Ryou thought back to the unconscious boy, thinking that if destroying the house didn't wake him up, the spirit's hearty laugh in his ear definitely could. "Marik thought _you_ were _me_? Damn, I knew he was stupid, but that's taking it to extremes!"

So many thoughts entered his mind. Some were about how his friends apparently couldn't tell the difference between them either, and then some being about how Bakura was too amused about Marik's confusion he didn't stop to think about how Marik had tried to kill him.

But mostly, he thought about the Egyptian teen who now had a name.

The spirit was able to calm himself down after that, and he turned his russet eyes to Ryou. The boy took a small step back before he could stop himself.

"Landlord, I suggest you go and get that ring, and put it back on." He leaned as close to the glass as possible. "Or there will be very severe repercussions."

Ryou turned around, about to obey, but then Marik's plea hit him once again. _Please, don't ever let him come back!" _

Whatever the spirit had done to Marik, Ryou wouldn't let it happen again, even if it cost him.

He spun back around to face the spirit in the mirror, getting as close to the glass as he dared. "No."

The spirit's eyes flashed. "Do _not_ disobey me."

"You'll find that's exactly what I'm doing."

"And you'll find venomous serpents in your bed if you don't get that bloody ring!"

Ryou stuck his tongue out at the yami and his fist met the glass. For the smallest second Ryou though it would break and the spirit would pop out and strangle him, but it only rattled for a few seconds before settling back to normal.

"Landlord!" he said warningly.

"Spirit!" Ryou mocked back in his best 'Bakura' voice. Then he turned promptly on his heel and walked out with his head held high, the thief's shouts only audible until he closed the door. He stood there for a few seconds before he realized just what he'd done. Fear gripped his chest and he leaned against the door for support, breath shaky and uneven. Oh gods, was he going to get it. The spirit was definitely going to punish him for his insubordination, just watch!

He let his legs fall out from under him, and he collapsed against the door. Oh, Lord, he'd never seen the spirit so angry! He was definitely going to be punished, punished in a thousand brutal ways. He was just waiting for his legs to move without his command, his hands go grab sharp objects of their own accord...

But they never did. He stared at them and rotated his left foot. Then his right. Then he balled both hands into fists and released them. So he still had control of his own body... He wondered how long it would last.

But then he face palmed. The spirit wouldn't be so desperate for Ryou to get the Millennium Ring he could punish him without it. So he was safe as long as he didn't touch it.

He felt seriously stupid, ladies and gentlemen.

He got up, getting as far away from the bathroom as possible, which brought him back to the Egyptian's-Marik's-room. He still hadn't been able to figure out what Marik and his yami were to each other, but he'd concluded they lived together. But...why? Who would possibly live with a crazy kleptomaniac dead man possessing a teenage boy?

He couldn't envisage a guess.

SO he sat down, leaning against the bed opposite to the one Marik was on. He hadn't moved since Ryou last saw him, except his head had been turned away from him. It didn't really matter, but a small part of him kind of wanted to be the first thing Marik saw when he woke up.

But then he thought about how much that might creep Marik out and he shook his head.

And hour went passed with hardly any movement. He had to admit it was boring watching the other teen sleep. Like, really boring. He'd given up trying to read all the book half an hour ago, since they were all in either Egyptian or Arabic, and there was not much else to hold his interest but Marik himself. After a few minutes he felt too perverted to go on and had instead turned to study his fingernails. There wasn't much to study, since he'd always had nice nails free of hang nails and uneven edges, except the spirit had filed them down to sharp points.

After ten minutes doing that, he finally grew tired of the room itself, and he retired to the living room. He turned the TV on and turned the volume down to an appropriate level before curling up on the couch to get some sleep himself.

~.~.~

Marik woke to the light scent of green tea and fabric softener. his eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet. His legs got tangled in the singular sheet and he fell to the ground, staring in horror at the bed he'd been in.

Bakura's...

While the thief was wasn't in bed himself, that failed to keep the fear that he'd done something stupid away. Why the hell had he been in there?

He looked around his room as if it could answer him, and his eyes landed on the discarded lamp in the middle of the floor. Oh, right, the other Bakura. Had he fainted? And had the other Bakura put him in bed? That was kind of...sweet, even if it did freak him out to wake up and smell nothing but Bakura.

But where was the little hikari now?

Well, the noise coming from the living room answered his question pretty quickly.

He got up, finding he was incredibly dizzy on his feet. Oh, Ra, and his head was pounding. Damn stupid hangovers. Still. Holding onto the wall, he made his way into the living room.

He turned the corner and found the Millennium Ring on the coffee table. He just left it where it was, not exactly in the mood to touch the personal items of his rapist.

He found the other Bakura curled up on the couch, breathing softly as gruesome images from some news station flashed in front of them. His eyes shifted from the crash details back to the sleeping albino.

No, wait, not sleeping, his eyes were blinking.

_Wow, they're so different..._ Marik thought to himself, looking at the big brown eyes and the neatly kept hair. Bakura never left himself unguarded, even when he _was_ asleep. He'd learned that the hard way, like everything else. But here Marik was, staring at him from the most obvious location, and the light was totally oblivious.

The news anchor said something about two people dying in the crash, a mother and her tween daughter, and the boy hurriedly turned the channel. His breathing sharpened. Marik raised and eyebrow, then decided to make himself known.

The other Bakura snuggled back into the cushions, the TV station now one some reality show with whiny teenagers. Marik came up behind him on the couch, watching him for a few minutes before pole vaulting over the back of the couch. He landed beside the light and the boy cried out, jumping to his feet but falling on his ass. Marik laughed.

How long had it been since he'd actually laughed?

"Ah, sorry about that," he said, offering a hand to the boy on the floor. "And about trying to kill you with a lamp. You scared me. It was self defense."

The other Bakura stared at his hand for a second before taking it. They shared a body, yet this one's hands were so much softer. "Yes, well...I take it we're even?"

Marik helped him to his feet. "Sure, why not?"

The other Bakura-he should really ask him what his name was- smiled softly and sat down. "I'm sorry too. I just found myself in your hallway back there and decided to try and find something familiar. I, uh...I didn't. Could you, uh-"

Marik's eye brows crinkled. "Could I what?"

Why did the other Bakura look so nervous? "Could you tell me what I'm doing here?"

"Only if you tell me your name."

The light looked at him in surprise. "Err, Ryou Bakura."

"Well, Ryou Bakura, I'm Marik Ishtar and you live here."

"I actually kind of guessed that already, but I don't remember moving in."

Oh, so Bakura and Ryou's link wasn't like the Pharaoh's and his midget's. They didn't share anything. It then because very apparent to Marik that he had a lot of questions to answer in his future.

"Oh, uh, that's because _you_ didn't. Bakura, I mean, your yami or, whatever it is you call him, did."

Ryou's eyes were sad and confused when they turned to him. "What are you to him, exactly?"

Ah, damn it, should he tell him the truth? _"Well, we used to be friends, but then he raped me and now I'm just a sex toy."_ Yeah, he imagined that would blow over really well. "We're partners in crime you might say." was his answer instead. It wasn't really a lie, since it was still technically true. But he still felt bad that he couldn't tell Ryou what his yami had done in his body. Err, _their_ bodies...

Ryou pulled back a little. "Crime?"

"Not real crime, just-" they were stealing countless things and plotting murder- "it's just that we're friends without all the sappy friend ship speeches." He chuckled a little. Ryou didn't seem to see the humor as he pursed his lips and thought up another question.

"What's today?"

Did Bakura really steal that much time from the body? "Uhm...I think it's September 12th..."

Ryou's face fell so much Marik thought he was going to cry. "Are you okay?"

Ryou nodded. "Yeah, it's just...My birthday was the second..."

"Well then you're shit out of luck because I have no idea how to back a cake." Ryou chuckled a little. "I am sorry. There's always next year, right?" Was there?

Ryou seemed to be thinking the same thing, since he frowned. But then his smile was back in place, even if it did seem forced. "Yeah. Yeah there is."

He continued to quiz Marik about pretty much everything, and while he had braced for it, he still found himself annoyed. Not to mention he felt a little awkward being on the same couch with him for so long. Sure Ryou hadn't been in control of his body, but it was still those lips that had kissed him, those hands that had touched him, those eyes that had stared into his very soul when he was at his weakest.

No, the eyes were different. Ryou's were rounder, softer, a little browner. After that, he started to notice the other differences between them. And not the obvious things that Yuugi and his idiot friends failed to see, like the hair and the voice, but the other things that everyone else missed.

The slight mouse-like nervousness, even though he looked relaxed, yet he still seemed calmer than Bakura somehow. Then there was his speech... Not his voice, which was a brilliant tenor as opposed to Bakura's gruff baritone, but his speech itself. He didn't curse or swear, and he didn't have that sarcastic toe Bakura always seemed to have. He had polite mannerisms, and always seemed to think about what he was going to say before he said it, something Bakura rarely if ever, did. He even held himself differently. Bakura cocked his head in arrogant ways and always had his shoulders squared. Ryou kind of slumped his shoulders and hardly looked straight at you. Bakura usually sat with his legs spread, his arms either on the back of the couch or chair, resting on his legs or crossed in front of his chest. Ryou's legs were together, hands in his lap, turned on the couch cushion so he was facing Marik.

There were just too many differences for Marik to list. Where Bakura was rough, Ryou was soft, and where Bakura was on-edge, Ryou was calm. If Bakura smiled triumphantly and showed off his stolen treasure, Ryou would hide it behind his back before inevitably breaking down and returning it. _And where Bakura had raped him, Ryou would never touch him._

"So, uhm..."

He'd been staring at Ryou for the past few...However he'd been staring at Ryou. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Ryou looked away, hands wringing nervously. Marik found it both cute and annoying. "Well, uh...Back there in the bedroom, before you fainted. Why...why did you seemed so scared of the other me?"

He'd been expecting this question for the last half hour, yet he still found himself wincing slightly. Had he really been that scared? Well, he had a valid reason to be like that, didn't he?That still didn't make it any less embarrassing, especially since it had been Ryou's first impression of him.

Marik was silent for a long time before he was finally able to whisper, "No." He ran a hand through his hair, turning to face a dejected looking Ryou. "No," he repeated in a slightly stronger voice. "I'm not telling you. Not yet..."

Ryou smiled understandingly. "That's okay, you've told me so much already. I couldn't be more grateful."

Marik returned the smile, also grateful in his own way that Ryou wouldn't pry. Bakura would've forced the answer out of him by now.

He slapped Ryou's leg slightly, smiling even more when the boy jumped and blushed timidly. "So Ryou, want some breakfast?"

Ryou turned to the window, seeing that the sun was already starting to rise. "Oh, uhm, if it's not too much trouble."

"Psh, nah." Marik stood, leading Ryou to the kitchen. He didn't know what he could possibly make with their current food supply, didn't know what Ryou's breakfast favorites were. He opened the fridge, remembering he hadn't been to the store in well over two months. His lips curled up at the sight of so much meat in his fridge. Oh, and some milk and a few beers. What a hearty breakfast! Fit for kings, no doubt!

He resisted the urge to slam the door. "Damn, we don't have anything...Wanna go to the store?"

Ryou looked up at him from where he'd been studying the table. "The store?"

"Please say yes. I haven't been properly outside in two months."

Ryou stood. "Oh, okay."

Marik smiled and turned to the back door, then cursed and turned to the front door. "Damn, Bakura has my keys, we have to walk there."

Ryou followed him, taking some keys out of his pocket. "These keys?"

Marik turned back to him, snatching the keys. "He'd had them in his pocket this whole time? That bastard!" He glared at the offending pant pouch as if to reprimand it, The he noticed that Ryou was back in his original clothing. He looked down at himself, his nice dress clothes from the previous night crumbled from trying to sleep in them.

"Actually, I should probably change first." Ryou's train of thought must have been going in a thousand different directions if the look on his face was anything to go by. "Be right back."

Then he turned to his room, the realization that he was finally free just now hitting him.

~.~.~

**So my brother should be getting us food right now, but he's still asleep, and Tobi's getting hungry ;A; And I don't think he'll be able to get us anything unless his bed can fly...Wouldn't that be so cool? I mean, you could be going somewhere and you could sleep while doing so, only comfortably! WHY HAS NO ONE THOUGHT OF THIS BEFORE? That's it, I will invent a flying bed, and then sell them and make a profit!**

**God, I'm suddenly reminded of this one English assignment where we had to write an informative essay with no pronouns...It was hard.**

**TeeheeIsaidhard!**

***sleep deprived***

**So there's chapter four. You all happy? Because I am. I got to talk to one of my favorite authors last night~ and it got me so uber duber motivated! (I had barely started this until early yesterday morning. and now I'm done. Yaaaay!)**  
><strong>I just made two fangirls very happy. AND THEY KNOW WHO THEY ARE. *mumbles*<strong>


	5. Warning

**HOLY FUCK! …:I This chapter's been due since AUGUST! AUUUUGGHHH DJHFJSDFSK IAMSOSORRY.**

"Land!" Ryou cried out when the bike finally came to a stop in the store parking lot, quickly getting off and falling to his knees dramatically. The ride over had been too fast and too crazy for him; too many red lights had been ignored, too many speed limits broken. They'd almost been hit at intersections twice!

Marik snorted and slid off the bike. "It couldn't have been that bad," he grumbled, taking off his helmet. Ryou looked up at him in horror.

"You ran three red lights at top speed!" he exclaimed. "We could have been killed!"

Marik chuckled and looked away sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Okay, maybe I could have slowed down a little." He leaned over the bike and offered Ryou his hand.

"Yes, you could have," the whitette mumbled, brushing the asphalt crumbs from his palms before taking Marik's hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. "And I suggest you do so in the future, too, unless you have a death wish or something." He paused and cringed at how threatening that sounded. "Err, I mean.."

Marik didn't seem to notice, though, as he took the keys from the ignition and stuffed them in his pocket. He was back in his usual outfit; a purple belly shirt and black cargo pants with a lot of gold jewelry. The wardrobe change had surprised Ryou at first. The first outfit Marik had been wearing made the Egyptian seem more conservative than he really was. But Ryou had shrugged off his fashion sense after a moment, along with what a flashy wardrobe could mean. Instead he'd hid his face in Marik's shirt as they sped off down the high way.

"Well, you'll have to forgive my enthusiasm. I haven't seen my bike in months, much less actually drive it." He rested his hand on the seat and frowned as if remembering something foul.

Ryou pursed his lips. What happened in the past few months had been explained to him earlier that morning, but he knew Marik was keeping things from him. Especially with his and the spirit's relationship. He really wanted to know all the facts to this, all that had happened between them. Was that being nosy? He didn't think so; it was his body, after all. If his 'tenant' was doing questionable things with Marik, or had hurt the Egyptian in some way, Ryou should be informed so he could apologize to him, or get himself checked out. Though, if they had done something that he could contract a disease from, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Why is that?" he questioned cautiously as he and Marik began walking towards the store.

Marik hesitated for a short moment before replying. Not too long, just a few second. But it was long enough for Ryou to know that Marik's response was a quickly thought up lie. "I've just been a little busy lately."

"Oh, what a shame." Maybe it was a little underhanded of him, but Ryou was going to use his natural kindness and charm to draw out Marik's secret, whatever it could be. He felt he had to know, so he could help in whatever way he could. "What could make you so busy you couldn't even ride your bike?"

"Uh..." Marik paused again, raising Ryou's suspicions even more. "Work, mostly."

"Oh. Where do your work?" He looked at Marik carefully, watching for any signs of him lying.

"I do odd jobs," he said automatically, his voice stiff. "A little of everything."

"Everything?" Ryou's question was innocent enough, but the way he raised his voice at the end added a perverse tone to it.

Marik visibly tensed. "Okay, not everything," he said, his nose wrinkling a little in disgust.

Ryou nodded, Marik's reaction satisfying his concern for now. They had reached the automatic doors, and he let the conversation drop, instead stepping into the store with Marik. He smiled. "So do you need any help with the groceries.

"Yeah, that would be awesome," Marik sighed, returning the smile halfway.

Ryou looked up at him. "How much do you intend to buy?"

"Enough to eat for a month or so." Marik looked from the shopping carts, back to Ryou. "Do you want anything?"

"Uhm..." Ryou felt for his wallet before replying. He was relieved to see he still he still had it, but when he took it out to examine the remainder of his money, Marik put a hand on his and pushed it away.

"Don't bother. I can pay," the Egyptian said with a smile, lowering his hand. He felt his own back pocket, nodding. "I have enough." Because he'd totally raided Bakura's "secret" piggy bank.

Ryou shook his head. "No, that's not necessary. I more than likely have enough food at home to last until my next check from Dad comes... I really only want a book, but I can pay for it." He looked inside his wallet and his face fell. All the money from last month was gone... Damn that spirit! Couldn't he leave anything alone? He pursed his lips and put the wallet away, trying not to show his disappointment. When he looked up at Marik, the Egyptian was frowning.

"What?"

Marik looked away, shrugging a little. "It's just... The other you moved in with me months ago. So you don't exactly...Have a home left."

Ryou's eyes widened in shock, his jaw going a bit slack before he clicked his mouth closed, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean I don't have a home left?"

"We, uh." Marik stuttered slightly and looked away, Ryou's eyes looking a bit too much like Bakura's at the moment. "We kind of sold it."

"Without telling me? Or even asking?"

"Bakura said-"

"Bakura said what?" Ryou shrieked, before lowering his tone and stepping closer, eyes glaring up at the Egyptian boy. He was tired of being pushed around and being taken for granted. He was tired of being treated like the black sheep by Yugi's friends, and he was fed up with quote- unquote Bakura living his life for him! It didn't matter to him if Marik had only been going along with the spirit of the ring. He was still a part of Ryou's life turning sour. "In case you didn't get the memo, I am Bakura! Ryou Bakura. I don't know who the other me is, or what he wants, or what he even does, but he is not me! That was my house you sold, that was my birthday you all forgot completely about, and it's my life you're fucking up!"

"Ryou, I'm sor-"

Ryou cut him off, biting his words out. "Sorry for what? For telling me about this? What, did you think I would have just lied down and taken it like everyone else seems to think?"

"No, I mean-"

Still Ryou went on, hardly paying attention to Marik anymore. "No more Mr. Nice guy!" he exclaimed, drawing a few stares from the other shoppers. "I'm not letting anyone else take advantage of me again- Not Yugi, not his gang, not Bakura, not you!"

He was breathing hard, his throat tight, and his face felt hot. There were tears in his eyes, and he watched Marik with blurred vision, eyes narrowed. The Egyptian had his arms crossed, and he was staring at his shoes. He waited for a moment before speaking, as if waiting for the other boy to calm down.

"I was wrong," he said softly, and Ryou's eyes widened again.

"What?"

"I was wrong," Marik said again, hardly lifting his head to look at him. "And I was stupid and selfish to pretend you weren't there this whole time."

"I- ...What?" For some reason, Ryou had been expecting a fight to break out. Not an apology.

Marik raised his head to look at him, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't have an excuse as to why I did it... I was just stupid, selfish, and blind to the truth. And that was just...So wrong."

Ryou said nothing, only blond man stared back, before taking a deep breath and leaning closer so they were almost face-to-face. "Listen... Bakura's done some pretty nasty things to me, too." His voice was soft, and calm, but his eyes were distant and full of pain. That look made Ryou forget about himself for a moment as he tried to see passed those elusive purple eyes.

Ryou opened his mouth to question him, but just then Marik pulled away, frowning deeply.

"I hate him just as much as you do, believe me. He's done things to me that I still have nightmares about, and he took something from me that I can never get back."

Ryou made a small noise, looking up at Marik with wide, dumbfounded eyes. "You don't mean..." Oh gods. He couldn't mean...! Not that... "Marik, I-"

Marik shook his head. "Later. Right now, this is about you." He put a hand on his hip, acting nonchalant despite the sadness that lingered in his eyes. "We kept all your stuff. We just put it in storage. You can stay at my place until you find somewhere else to live. Or I could probably pull some strings and get you an apartment."

The whitette stared at him for a moment, amazed that he could jump between topics so easily before scoffing and turning away. "Why would I want anything from you? Until this morning, you didn't even know I existed."

Marik sighed, averting his eyes. "I just wanted to help."

"You've helped enough."

The Egyptian closed his eyes. "I know."

Silence fell over the pair, both breathing softly as they waited for the other to speak. Thirty seconds ticked by, and then a minute, and then another minute, until Ryou finally sighed and looked up at him. "Would it trouble you if I stayed at your place until I find a new house?"

Marik only looked slightly confused before shaking his head. "No, no trouble at all."

"Are you sure?" I don't want to be an inconvenience to you... Or...Or risk Bakura coming after you."

A slow smile passed over Marik's face. "No, I trust you to keep him away."

After a moment of studying that smile, trying to figure out if it was forced or not, Ryou concluded it was a genuine smile from the other boy, and he gradually returned it, feeling his anger dissipate. "Thanks Marik," he said softly.

Marik blew out a breath, making a "Pfft" sound with his lips. "Anytime Ryou," he laughed, brushing the Brit's gratitude aside.

Ryou smirked a little, tilting his head towards the carts. "So are we doing this or what?"

The other boy grinned, cocking an eyebrow. He went over and grabbed a cart, wheeling it back over to Ryou. He rested his arms on the handle, leaning over it. "You still think you don't need any food?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. We shouldn't overload the bike with uneeded groceries."

"You don't give her enough credit," grumbled Marik, straightening and and pushing the cart towards the produce. Ryou rolled his eyes and smiled, following him around the store, and helping him estimate how much food they could fit in the leather storage pouch on the back of Marik's motorcycle. Most of the groceries were grains and vegetables, but Ryou had somehow persuaded Marik to buy a few things for him, including tea (both Earl Grey and Hibiscus for both their tastes), various instant meals and one steak, despite the boy's earlier confirmation that he didn't need anything.

It had surprised Ryou at first, that the Egyptian teen had been so willing to compromise when Ryou had asked for a single box of his favorite snack crackers, going so far as to put some of his own food back to make room. Ryou had to wonder why, though- why Marik was trying so hard to help Ryou and keep him happy. Ryou wasn't his friend, or his room mate; he had no obligation to please him. He could have kicked him out of his house the first moment he saw him if he wanted to. But he didn't. Even though he could have, he didn't.

Maybe he thought that if he was nice enough to Ryou, the spirit wouldn't come back. He didn't know Ryou that well, after all. Maybe if he thought Ryou was happy, Bakura couldn't get out. It was possible... And, perhaps, even logical... But Marik really didn't seem the type. The type that kept people close to keep others away. He seemed more like the type to confront his problems head-on.

Then again... Marik put on a mask for him. He'd told Ryou that Bakura had hurt him, and Ryou suspected that wasn't all he'd done. But still Marik was able to laugh and joke around and converse with him as if nothing between his yami and the Egyptian had happened. Sure, every so often he'd see Marik look off in a seemingly random direction, and his eyes would fade into dazed, sad looks. He knew Marik's pain went deeper than he let on, but he was still able to act so happy for him. He'd probably suffered so much...Probably much more than Ryou could ever know.

Still. He wanted to help.

Marik stopped walking suddenly. Had Ryou not been watching where he'd been going, they might have collided.

Ryou looked up at him questioningly.

Marik turned and lifted one shoulder, making a slightly pained face. "I need to head to the bathroom," he explained, and Ryou nodded. "Do you mind finishing up for me? We just need some ice cream."

"Oh, sure. No problem."

"Thanks. Get whatever flavor you like, as long as it has chocolate."

Ryou nodded again. "Alright."

"Cool." Marik took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead with the pads of his fingers. "I'll meed you up front when I'm done." Then he turned on his heel and began to walk quickly towards the restrooms, leaving Ryou to shrug and head in the other direction.

The bathroom was empty when Marik stepped inside, and he crossed over to the sinks, leaning onto one while he looked into his reflection in the harsh, artificial lights. Gods, he was so pale looking. He ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes and groaning. A dull pain had begun to throb at his temples not long after he'd told Ryou he hated Bakura. It had been growing increasingly worse since then and now it was an effort to even keep his eyes open, let alone walk and stay up right.

He groaned again and lowered his head, turning on the faucet to splash cool water in his face. Only now as he moved his fingers over his face, wiping water from his eyes, did he notice how hot his face felt. Ugh. Perfect. He was coming down with something, wasn't he? He splashed more water in his face, willing the ill feeling away. He wouldn't be able to drive home if he felt like shit, and he highly doubted Ryou could handle a motorcycle...Let alone kick up the stand without falling over with it.

He spit in the sink, looking back up at the mirror with tired eyes. A cry of surprise left his throat when his reflection came back into view. It was different... He hardly even recognized the wide, maniac eyes that stared back at him, and the psychotic, almost evil grin that stretched his face.

But then he blinked, and his reflection was back to normal.

He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, holding his chest. Great. Just great! A fever, a headache, and hallucinations? Gods damn it. He turned off the faucet and watched the water drain from the speckled marble sink, swallowing slightly when it was all gone. He felt paranoid now.. As if someone was in there with him...watching him...breathing down his neck.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, letting his wet skin air dry. He rubbed his thumb and pointer finger, leaning back against the nearest wall.

That was when he heard the chuckle.

He raised his head, looking around the room. No one was in there that he could see, but that didn't keep the hairs on the back of his neck from raising.

"Hello?" he called out.

The only answer was the hum of the air conditioner.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp and gripping his hair, biting the inside of his lip. His headache was only getting worse and worse, and he let himself slide down the wall, still holding his head in his hands.

"F-fuck..." he gasped, a wave of intense pain crashing through his head with no warning. It was like his brain was about to explode. He hardly heard the second chuckle because of this, and would have remained oblivious to it if he had not heard his name being whispered to him.

Marik forced his eyes open and looked up. Again he saw no one, but even through the pain in his skull he was able to feel another presence in the room.

"Who's there?" he demanded, wincing as his own voice seemed to reverberate around his brain.

Whoever it was scoffed. "You don't remember me? What a disappointment."

Marik's eyes widened, before narrowing. "You..."

"Surprise! Nice to see you too, Omote."

Marik growled. What was he doing here? The bastard split personality he'd created for a shield from his pain hadn't spoken up in years. Marik had begun to think he'd disappeared. Apparently not.

"Go away," he hissed, pulling himself to his feet shakily. "I don't need you. I don't want you here."

"If that were true," the distorted voice in his head purred softly, "You never would have called me here."

Marik growled to himself. "I did not call you here." He attempted to stand, but the pain that coursed through him then made him fall back down.

The voice tsk'ed. "You did, Omote. Like it or not, you did."

Marik spat out a curse. "Why would I ever do that?"

"You wouldn't. No, of course you wouldn't. Not consciously. But subconsciously-"

"Subconsciously it would be the same-"

"Subconsciously, you know you need help. In your head. I can hear you screaming, and crying, and begging for help." The nameless, body-less voice continued, and Marik's temples throbbed with each syllable. "In your heart, there is so much pain. Too much for you to ever deal with. You're hiding from it because you can't deal with it."

Marik's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That's not true."

"It is true. Just accept it. You can't deal with the fact you've been raped and beaten-" Marik winced. "-Multiple times. By your partner. Your best friend. The love of your life."

Marik growled at him, grabbing the sink and forcing himself to stand up. "Shut up!"

The voice made a soft, sarcastic cooing sound. "Aw, what's wrong, Marik? Did I strike a nerve?"

"Shut up!"

"I did, didn't I? I just reminded you of all the pain you're avoiding."

"Go away!"

The voice's teasing tone turned into a growl. "No! You need me, and you know it."

Marik was panting softly by now, nausea flooding into him as he stared into the sink. His vision was swimming, eyes blurring slightly with tears from the pain. "I don't need you..."

"You do. You need me to deal with you can't. So far, I've tried. I've done my best to protect you, my little Omote. I've tried to help you. I've numbed your pain so many, many times. Not only now."

A memory flashed into his mind so quickly he felt as if the floor had been jerked out from under him. He gasped slightly, swallowing to keep his bile down. He was looking back at the past through someone else's eyes, staring down at his dead and mutilated father, hands bloody. The eyes turned to look at Odion laying on the floor, and an evil laugh resounded around his brain. He winced, eyes clenching shut. When he opened them again, he was back in the rest room.

"You-"

"Listen, Omote. I can't help you this time if you don't let me."

"I don't need your help!" Marik barked, gripping the sink so tightly his knuckles paled. "I don't need anyone's help!"

Pain exploded into his head, so fierce he lost his balance and stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and falling back against the wall with a short, strangled cry. The voice, and it's very presence, seemed to boil with rage.

"You're clinging to the host."

Marik, even through his pain, was able to retort, biting his words through his teeth. "I'm clinging to no one."

"You are. That's all you do, is cling and pout until some one else fixes your problems for you."

"You're a liar...!"

"You're the liar here, Omote! You lie to me, to the host, to yourself!" There was a pause, in which neither personality spoke. Marik closed his eyes and waited for his other self to speak again, knowing he wasn't done and not wanting to push him. When he finally did, his voice was calm. "Omote...Face facts. Even if the host is in control at the moment, the thief still lives within him. They'll be together forever, just like you and I. There's no escaping that." The comforting tone the voice spoke in was beginning to soothe his headache, and reluctantly, he closed his eyes and listened closely, wanting the pain gone. What he was saying didn't agree with him, however, and it amazed him how he could keep himself calm.

"If you continue to associate with the host, Bakura will come back, and you will only be worse off than you were before."

The Egyptian remained silent, slowly opening his eyes to stare at his reflection. He shook his head slowly, his forehead creasing as he furrowed his brows. Weak. Useless. Pitiful. His hands gripped the sink tight. Why did he always have to feel so worthless?

The voice remained just as silent as Marik, letting him think things over, and Marik lowered his gaze back into the porcelain sink, praying that his other self couldn't hear his thoughts.

"What do I do?" he asked in a whisper, many moments later, almost forgetting he was not alone.

The voice was soft now, just barely louder than the breeze. "Let me kill him for you."

Marik froze. "What?"

"Let me kill him for you," the voice repeated patiently.

"Ba...Bakura?" Marik looked at this reflection with confusion. "No.. He's immortal. You ca-"

"Not the thief. Not even if we tried. He'd only come back."

The confused face in the mirror became even more bewildered, brows scrunching. "Then who...?"

The voice didn't answer, instead letting him figure it out on his own. It didn't take Marik long to come up with a conclusion, and his breath hitched in his throat. "Ryou..." he breathed out incredulously.

A wide, sinister grin that was not his own pulled at his lips, and his tongue rolled out to wet them down. He moaned lowly in his throat and covered his mouth.

"The host." His head nodded by itself, and he raised both hands to grab it, stopping it. The voice continued on, uninterrupted. "The kid is the only vessel that the thief can use- the only one his soul will bond with. So if we kill him, he can never come back. Not until we're long gone."

Marik shook his head, slowly at first, then faster. "No.. No, not Ryou. He didn't do anything."

"Except let that bastard rape you!"

"He didn't-"

"He was there! He's just as guilty as Bakura is!"

"Bakura's not in him anymore!"

"Bakura will always be in him!" the voice yelled, and the air around them seemed to buzz with the words. "Do whatever you will to try and get rid of him; exorcise him, banish him, seal him away. He will always come back."

A sudden breeze sighed through the room, chilled air whipping and wrapping around his neck like cool, slim fingers. ...Like Bakura's fingers. He shivered, his face paling as he rubbed his neck, trying to force the chill away with his own warm hands.

"Revenge doesn't matter to him anymore," the voice said slowly, and the breezy fingers moved down his neck massaging his skin in a far too similar way. He tried to pull away, trying to get away from the chilled touch, but the wind just followed him, moving into his shirt and gently caressing his back, as if trying to calm him. He shook his head, folding his arms over his chest to warm himself against the frigid fingers.

"The only thing he cares about now..." the voice continued slowly, either oblivious to his discomfort or just choosing to ignore it completely. "Is you, Omoto. Your voice, your smell, your body. He's had a taste, and he's addicting. You're all he cares about now a days. That's why you have to do something."

"I- ...I won't kill him. I won't hurt Ryou." The invisible hands that had been groping him and caressing all his sensitive spots stopped, moving back to his throat threateningly. He shut his eyes tight and tries to grab at the air that held him, only scratching his finger nails against his golden choker in the process. This... was too much. It was all too familiar. A sound of distress tore itself from his throat as he tried to fight off the airy hands. "St-stop!"

"This is what you have to look forward to if you let the brat live! Do as I say, Omote, and let me kill him for you!"

"No!" Marik cried out, even as the breezy hands began to cut of his air supply, all but making him suffocate on his own words. "I- I won't!"

The voice was angry. "Marik!"

"No!"

"Marik?"

Marik gasped, inhaling quickly as the hands released him. He coughed softly and held his neck, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He focused, concentrating on his other half's energy. He couldn't feel it anymore... Good. And all the pain he'd felt earlier...That was gone as well. Even better.

"Marik."

Once again hearing his name said, but really only hearing it for the first time, he turned to it's owner, startling slightly when he saw it was Ryou.

"What's wrong?" the whitette questioned, brows raised worriedly. He walked over to Marik, studying him carefully, eyes wide and full of concern.

"I, uh..." Marik had no idea what to say. He could never tell Ryou the truth; it wasn't as if he was worried Ryou would think he was crazy. More like he didn't want the boy to freak out from the knowledge Marik had a psychotic split personality inside him that wanted him dead. He could just see all the ways that could go down, and none of them were very positive. He swept his eyes over the room, his eyes quickly landing on a dead spider near the trash bin. He pointed to it, trying to calm himself down enough to speak clearly. "Just a spider..." He said. "Deathly afraid." He forced a nervous chuckle, the sound very unconvincing. "Snakes too."

Ryou looked back at the spider before turning back to him, pausing suspiciously. He quirked his eyebrow. "Spiders?"

Marik nodded hesitantly.

Ryou looked at him for another moment before giggling and nudging his arm. "Oh, you big baby! It's just a little spider. It can't hurt you."

Marik let out another nervous laugh, sighing inwardly in relief that Ryou had bought the lie. He shook his head in disgust. "It's their eyes. I swear the all stare into your soul."

Ryou smirked at him. "So that's what this is about, hmm? Spider troubles?" He chuckled and glanced at the spider again, then turned back to Marik with a pinning gaze. "Don't scare me like that!" He exclaimed, voice now just a little higher pitched from previously disguised worry. "I thought you had been kidnapped or something!"

Or something. Or something had definitely happened.

Marik laughed and rubbed his face, taking slow, deep breaths to further calm himself. "Sorry about that." He started walking towards the door, ushering Ryou back into the store. Half of what his dark side had said was already far away in the back of his mind, unheeded and ignored. Marik had faith that Ryou would be able to keep Bakura at bay.

"Come on. We don't want the ice cream to melt."

Ryou nodded and walked with him back to the cart, which had been left behind a balloon display. Marik smirked, looking up at the bunch as Ryou fought them off to retrieve their groceries. His eyes fell on a bright red birthday balloon, and he clicked his tongue, crossing his arms in thought. He recalled Ryou talking about a birthday everyone had forgotten about. How could he not when it had been yelled into his face like that? He felt bad for the other boy; birthdays weren't particularly important for Marik, his own being forgotten since childhood because of some big Hallmark holiday that came two days afterwards and always overshadowed the celebration. That, and every birthday he'd had as a child was just another year closer to being carved up like a piece of meat. But he knew that for teenagers like Ryou enjoyed becoming one year older, in some cases one year wiser, and and another year closer to being of legal drinking age, so on, so forth. He felt he should try and make it up to him, since he had looked so sad when he found out he had missed his own birthday.

Besides that, his quote- unquote subconscious wanted him dead. That kind of thing could make anyone feel guilty.

"Hey, Ryou?"

Ryou batted a blue balloon away from his face and looked at him. "Yes?"

Marik studied the balloons casually, trying hard not to be too obvious. "Didn't you say you had a birthday pass recently?"

Ryou blinked, arching his eyebrows. "Uh, yes. The second. ...Why?"

Marik shrugged. "Would you mind much if I bought you a super-late present?"

Ryou looked surprised at the question, then shook his head, mimicking the action with his hand. "Oh, no, please. You don't have to. You didn't even know about it until I told you."

The taller boy shrugged again, looking down at him. "Didn't you say you wanted a book?"

"I...Yes."

"Let me buy that book for you then. As a sort of apology."

Ryou sighed softly, resting his arms on the cart. "I said it was fine. You didn't even kno-"

He was cut off by Marik. "No, I mean for everything else." He studied Ryou's questioning look before sighing and shrugging his shoulders a third time. "I guess a book doesn't exactly make up for an entire house... But it's a start, right? I'd feel better if you just accepted it."

The Brit stared at him for a long moment, only being able to take a second of Marik's puppy eyes before caving. "Oh, alright," he let out with a sigh, scratching the back of his head.

"Cool! Alright, take me to the book section," Marik said happily, turning to scout said isle out. Ryou snorted softly and left the cart where it was, taking Marik by the elbow and directing him towards the very opposite side of the store. They laughed and joked as they went, conversing with the other about all the crappy birthdays they'd had in the past. Marik would have won over Ryou's crappiest birthday, when the puppy he was given ran away the same night. But he kept his own birthday scars a secret to be shed at another time. He didn't even bring his tenth birthday up. In it's place, he revealed that his twentieth birthday was in a little more than three months.

"Happy early birthday, then!" Ryou gushed, looking up at him with a bright smile. Marik felt the whitette's fingers wrap hesitantly around his own. He only startled slightly before returning the grip with a small squeeze. He watched Ryou's face redden and smirked. This didn't bother him at all; maybe it should have. Maybe it should have reminded him of the better times with Bakura, where they would shake hands in agreement, or even the worst times, when Bakura would pin his hands to the wall or bed or floor... But it didn't remind him of either. Instead, it had the opposite effect. It only seemed to calm him further, and push Bakura far back into the darkest recesses of his mind. Despite himself, and everything that had happened, and his other self's warnings, he began to imagine a future for he and Ryou. Not necessarily a romantic one, but just one with friendship. Hanging out and going places, watching movies and dorking around. Confiding in each other.

His thumb ran over Ryou's knuckles, and a smile formed on his face. He'd try not to level his expectations too high, just in case there was disappointment later on. But for now, he could always hope for it to turn out that way.

"Ha," he laughed in his head, directing it towards his other self, just in case he was still listening. "And you wanted me to kill him."

A chill ran down his spine, but he only grinned and squeezed Ryou's hand.

They reached the book isle, and Ryou let go of his hand to look for the book. He went up the isle, studying the books with a straight face, then back down with a frown. "Oh no... I think they're sold out." He crouched down to search the lower levels, pushing other books aside to look for the one in question.

Marik watched him until he grew bored of his search and turned to look at the books himself. He picked up a velvet red romance novel, studying the 'classy' nude portrait the man on the cover was painting of the woman laying on the bed. It was entitled "Paint My Desire", the name scrawled across the cover with a sexy font.

He grimaced slightly before setting it back down.

He looked back up when Ryou squealed in triumph. "It's still here!" he exclaimed, holding up an old looking, purposely weathered leather-bound book with gold lettering. Marik blinked and walked over to him, looking at the book over the Brit's shoulder as he traced the title with his finger.

"Ghost stories?" Marik mused, his mouth slowly twitching into something that was not quite a smile and not quite a frown.

Ryou looked up at him, holding the book to his chest. "Yeah, I... I like ghost stories. But this is more like, a collection of occult fables collected from around the world. The authors just rewrote them and added their own characters into them. Giving proper credit, of course. ...Kind of like 'Supernatural'."

Marik's lips quirked again. "Never heard of it,"

Ryou frowned slightly, before shrugging. "Well, it's not too well known here... But I like it."

The Egyptian smiled. He never would have guessed this was Ryou's interest. He was so bright and happy. He didn't seem like the type to enjoy dark stuff like ghosts and Ouija boards and the like. However, that little secret just seemed to make him cuter in ways that didn't quite make sense.

"Want to read a few to me later?" Marik asked, smiling softly at the younger boy, curious about his fixation on things like this.

Ryou blinked twice in surprise, before his entire face brightened. "Sure! I'd love to!" he said with a wide smile, hugging the book.

Marik's smile turned to a grin. "Sweet! Maybe we can raid the horror section at the movie rental, too. Make some snacks and just-"

He swallowed his words as Ryou's arms suddenly wrapped around him and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened slightly at first, too used to Bakura's 'hugs' to immediately distinguish between those disguised grabs at him and a true hug. He just stood there, stock-still, until he heard the other boy laugh timidly. At that, he seemed to remember where he was and who he was with, and he relaxed.

"Sorry for being a little forward," he said, pulling back. He pushed his hair out of his face with one hand, while the other still rested on Marik's hip. "It's just...Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Marik looked down at him, eyes wide and slightly confused, before his expression softened. He smiled at the whitette and put his hands on his shoulders, pulling him back into the embrace.

"No...Thank you."

**HAAA, SHAIZAH!**

**This chapter was a BITCH!**

**I rewrote it twice before I got a nice plot, and even then it was lacking. *face palm***

**So I still had to rewrite it AGAIN. Ugh! O/**

**Also, I owe a lot of thanks to SetsunaNoroi. |D She kicked my ass into high gear, even if she doesn't know it. xD Well, of course, now she does, but~**

**I also owe some thanks to both Amber and Uriko, who helped me phrase a few sentences here and there.**

**Probably some more people, including a teacher and random classmates OTL**

**Uhm...Not much else but, RANDOM YAMI MARIK CAMEO if you didn't get that. :I I tried to, you know...Make him obvious AND mysterious at the same time and just OTL OTL OTL OTL OTL**

**That's all for now. Herp derp.**


	6. The Past

By the time they had finally paid for all their purchases, the plan had already changed. Since they had frozen items, they had to take them right home so nothing would melt or go bad. It was still pretty early, and cool outside, but neither wanted to risk the ice cream. After they got everything home (Ryou was amazed that Marik could drive with all the bags on the handlebars) and put away, they could go out. Their new plan was to stop by the movie rental place and grab a few of Ryou's favorites- Ryou's, since Marik hardly watched movies and when he did, they were on TV. And after that, they'd hit the storage facility where all of Ryou's stuff was stored so he could get what he needed to survive.

The movie place was closed for repairs on the air conditioner, so once again they changed their plans. The only thing left to do was get Ryou's stuff, so that's what they did. Ryou insisted he be allowed to keep the key to the storage unit, since it held his furniture and wardrobe and books and the like. That, and he was still angry at the two thieves for selling his house. He wouldn't trust them with his stuff now.

Luckily, Marik agreed to the reason stated and handed them over without a fuss. He himself still felt bad about forgetting Ryou was the rightful owner of his and Bakura's body and selling his house. To him, this was the second step to making things alright.

They hadn't thought about how they would get Ryou's stuff back to the house on a bike, but Ryou promised to only bring the necessities. "Since I probably won't be staying long anyway," he reasoned. Marik was a little sad to hear that, but he reminded himself who Ryou was, and who he was sharing that body with. Though he was already starting to get attached to the boy, he knew it was better if they didn't spend much time together.

It took an hour or more to find everything Ryou needed. Marik and Bakura had been in a hurry to move- he was pretty sure it had something to do with the dead body they hid under the floorboards. The couple who bought it was using that room for a nursery, too. He smirked at the thought. But because of that, they had pretty much tossed in as much as they could into each box and called it good. They hadn't sorted the knick-knacks, wrapped the glassware with bubble wrap, or label the boxes at all. Thus box after box the two searched.

Marik was going through a box that he remembered had come from the living room. He really hadn't paid much attention to anything then, or even before, but now he studied each interesting piece he came across. There were miniature clay figures, some messy and unsturdy, some elegant and professional. The paint was chipped and there were noticeable cracks in some, but most had been painted over, so he knew his haste to clear the shelves hadn't done that. The figures came in many shapes; most were human looking, but short and round with large faces and balls for hands. They seemed to be caricatures of real people, since he had already found two that looked like Joey and Tristan. He smiled a little at their faces, their features on the dolls more enjoyable than in real life. He then found a taller figure clad in black with shiny armor. He didn't recognize it from anything he knew, so he just continued to search.

The whole box seemed to be filled with these figures. He was about to give up, sure that Ryou didn't need any of them, when he saw one that looked very familiar. Pulling it out from under the other two, he studied it for a long time before smiling.

"Ryou?" he called. Said boy looked up from his own box. Looked like he was going through kitchen equipment.

"Did you have this custom made?" Marik held up the doll. The character was dressed in what appeared to be holy attire, white with golden and red ankhs. He held a staff with basically the same design, and was smiling triumphantly at some unknown victory. It looked strikingly like Ryou. Said boy's eyes widened when he saw it, and he let out a soft cry as he scrambled to his feet. He slid to his knees beside Marik and took the figure from him.

"You actually found this?" he said, turning it over and around, examining every inch of it. "I thought I had lost it forever!" He pouted. "The other me must have hid them..."

Marik's eyebrows arched. "Why would he do that?"

Ryou opened his mouth, but then closed it again and worked his jaw around. He seemed reluctant to tell, but finally spoke. "Well... Because it gives me power."

Marik raised an eyebrow. Ryou saw this and quickly clarified. "I mean, it gives me the power to stand up to him. After Yugi and I had become good friends, the other me posed as me and invited them over to play Monster World...It was a roleplaying game I was into at the time, and the other me taught himself to play through me. He wanted to lock Yugi and Joey and all of them inside little toys like this that I..."

His eyes fell on the Joey and Tristan figures, and he picked them up with his other hand. He smiled fondly at them before continuing. "I made these. It's a hobby of mine."

"Really? They're amazing," Marik cut in.

Ryou smiled more. "Thanks. But the other me wanted to lock their souls inside of these, and mine too. He was close to defeating them when I overcame him for the very first time and put my soul inside this toy. We were all able to defeat them, and I made a diorama out of all of these to remember it by. As proof of the friendship we all fought for, I think is how I put it." He smiled sadly and put them back in the box, along with all the others. That was a friendship long in need of repair. "I don't need any of them. We can leave them here."

Marik looked a little surprised. "Are you sure? We could take one or two..."

Ryou shook his head and replaced each figure taken out. "No, it's alright. They would just take up space or get lost." He moved to put his mage toy back in, but on second thought, he side and put it in Marik's pocket. When the blond looked questioningly at him, he shrugged. "You have bigger pockets than I do."

Marik nodded. "Ah. Alright then." He gently patted the pocket, fingers following the curves of the figure through the fabric. "I'll keep him safe."

Ryou grinned, then stood. "Are you having any luck finding...well, anything?" Aside from his bed sheets, they hadn't found anything even remotely useful. Marik shook his head, and the whitette sighed. He returned to his own box while Marik folded in the flaps of his. This was going to take a while...

Thirty minutes and ten boxes later, they had acquired most of what they had set out for; Ryou's toothbrush and toothpaste, his comb, his favorite shampoo, some underwear (Marik had laughed himself stupid at the super hero briefs Ryou owned, only to be shut up when Ryou snapped his thong strap) and his bedsheets and pillow. They still needed some clothes, and Ryou also mumbled something about a scrap book. It wasn't too much longer until Marik found the scrap book and, curious, looked inside.

On the first page was a few old pictures, worn around the edges and hastily glued down. Some were of a younger, plumper Ryou. Others were of a girl with blue hair and large green eyes. Still others had the two together, smiling and hugging. Marik smiled at them, assuming the girl in the pictures was Ryou's sister. They had similar faces and eyes. He turned the page, and it crackled softly. The next page had a family portrait. There was a slightly older Ryou and a woman who shared his hair, and a man with glasses who resembled the girl. He glanced up at Ryou, wondering if he would care that he was looking through the book. His back was facing him.

With a small shrug to himself, Marik continued to look. The pictures didn't have any chronological order, as he found a baby picture of Ryou three pages in, but it still told a story of a loving family and two bright, happy children. Marik was totally engrossed in it, studying each picture silently before turning the stiff pages and repeating the process. But the pictures stopped only twenty or so pages in. There were a few blank pages, and then one page with only writing on it.

"In loving memory...Katrina Rose Bakura, 1956-2001; Amane Riko Bakura, 1996-2001"

Marik's eyes widened at that, nearly to the size of saucers. He flipped back a few pages and confirmed the names. Amane, the little girl, and Katrina the mother. His breath caught in his throat. Ryou's mother and sister were dead? How awful. He glanced up at Ryou, brows stitched, suddenly wanting to hug him. He wondered how they died. Was it horrible, or did they go peacefully? Were they sick, or in an accident? Were they murdered or kidnapped or simply lost? He wanted to ask but of course he didn't, figuring if Ryou wanted him to know, he would tell him. Besides, he was withholding pretty much his entire past and present from Ryou.

The next few pages were blank, save for a few ink or coffee stains, and Marik continued turning pages until he found something else. It was an envelope, its back glued to the page, the flap stuffed inside its throat. He slid a finger under the flap and pulled it out, peeking down inside. There seemed to be a letter inside, and he pulled it out. Indeed it was a letter, and addressed to Amane. Seeing this, he moved to put it back, but by then his eyes had already begun to read the writing. He glanced at Ryou again to make sure the boy wasn't watching him and read a few sentences. That was all he could read, however, as he soon realized they were letters written by Ryou... several months after she had died.

He frowned and bit the inside of his cheek, reading Ryou's scrawling handwriting with some difficulty. The boy had seemed rushed when he wrote this, or shaken. The paper was thin and warped in some places where water- tears?- had fallen on it, and the ink blurred with it. Ryou was... very detailed when he was describing how much he missed his sister and his mother, and how pained he was at his loss. He told his sister how their father had left soon after the funeral, and how he was all alone. He also explained how strange things were happening; his friends were disappearing and he was losing pieces of his memory. Marik's frown grew a little more at that.

When he had finished the letter, he knew more about Ryou's past than he wanted to know. He could hypothesis how it was before the death of his family, and Ryou explained everything in the letter. Now this information rested heavily in Marik's stomach, putting anxious pressure on his diaphragm. He felt a bit of pity for the boy, as well as more guilt for snooping, on top of everything else.

The rest of the book was full of envelopes. He assumed they were more letters to Ryou's sister, or even his mother, and closed the book with a sigh. He looked up at Ryou. The Brit was looking through a box of clothes, and sorting them into piles. He sighed again and got up reluctantly, lock jawed as he made his way over to Ryou. Ryou seemed to be struggling over a decision between two sweaters, and Marik cleared his throat when he wasn't immediately noticed. Ryou looked up, curious, but then saw the book in Marik's hand.

"Oh!" He gasped, sitting up and taking it. "You found it? Great! Now I just have to fold these clothes and we can go!"

Marik smiled a little, not sure how to respond. "Yeah..." He said, just trying to fill the void. He couldn't look at Ryou and not imagine his eyes red from crying and face flushed. There wasn't an atom in his body that didn't want to comfort the boy in some way.

And people said he was a bad guy.

Ryou was smiling and tracing the scrapbook's spine, but when he noticed how awkward Marik seemed, he looked up again. "Is something wrong, Marik?" he asked carefully, studying the Egyptian with concern. Marik supposed there was reason to be concerned...All he had done all day was freak out over one thing or another. It surprised him Ryou hadn't taken him to a psychiatrist yet. He probably needed one.

But Marik just smiled and put on his best happy act. "Oh yeah, of course! I'm just getting hungry." He actually felt kind of sick from all the emotions stewing inside of him.

As if it was waiting for a cue, Ryou's stomach growled. The two laughed, and Ryou said, "I guess I am too. We're done here, why don't we go eat?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea."

Ryou smiled and kneeled back down, replacing all the clothes from one pile and quickly folding up the rest. Marik went to help, but after his display of skilless folding, Ryou laughed and told him to put the other stuff in the bike pouch. Marik had pouted, but did as instructed, clearing out the outdated maps and phone books in it to make room for everything else. It all fit with room left for Ryou's clothes, because the boy had folded them so small. They would have to ride with the sheets and pillow between them, though. No way that would fit.

He met up with Ryou inside and helped him carry the clothes to the bike. The boy had grabbed another book from somewhere and held it under his arm. Marik asked about it, and said it was a collection of Grimm Brothers fairy tales. He had been reading it before Bakura had taken over the last time, and wanted to finish it. He was telling Marik about the Grimm's version of Cinderella, since that was the only one Marik knew, and he was so into the story he didn't see the box in front of him until he tripped over it.

It could have been a nasty spill against the concrete floor, but he was able to catch himself. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ryou laughed. "I'm too clumsy for my own good."

Marik grinned. "I believe it."

Ryou pulled a face and made to hit him, but he dropped a few shirts just by raising his arm. Sighing, he bent to pick them up, Marik following suit to help. Then Marik spied an interesting box.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling it out from under the box Ryou had tripped over. It was long and thin, like a board game, and black with enchanting designs all over it. In the middle were two hands touching a sort of pointer thing.

Ryou looked at it, then hummed. "Oh, it's my Ouija board." He picked up the box and studied it for any damages. There didn't seem to be any, so he held it up for Marik to see. "Ever play?"

Marik looked at him with a raised brow and shook his head. Ryou's face seemed to brighten a little. "Oh, they are so much fun. I mean, if you're into scaring yourself silly." He tucked it under his arm, quickly deciding to take it with them. "You call spirits to you and ask them questions. It can get pretty thrilling. I've never played with this one though... You're supposed to always have at least two people."

Marik wasn't as excited as Ryou, and stared suspiciously at the box as they continued towards the bike. "Spirits, you say...Maybe we shouldn't..."

Ryou shook his head. "Well, I don't think these cardboard ones can really call spirits to you. Back in middle school a few friends and I played with one and nothing bad happened."

The Egyptian still looked uncertain, but sighed and gave in. Anything to make Ryou happy. And Ryou did look happy as he grinned and patted the box.

"Sweet! Thank you, Marik! I haven't played Ouija in forever..."

Marik managed to smile and shrug. "It's no problem."

With that exchange, they fell into silence and finished packing Ryou's stuff into the pouch. Ryou folded up his sheets and stuffed them inside the pillowcase. He did as Marik suggested and put them between the two of them, his arms around Marik keeping them from falling off. The board was also placed between them, against Marik's back so the box had less of a chance to be crippled. Marik didn't like that. All the way home, he swore he could feel a bitter chill rubbing against him from that thing.

**So this has been much awaited for, apparently. I just saw the reviews for this a few days ago (from April to July- I'm so sorry I'm just now seeing these! For some reason I wasn't receiving any emails from FFnet and I don't usually check my reviews when I'm on... But thank for so much for them! They kick started my drive to pop out another chapter!) **

**However this chapter seems relatively short compared to all the others... You can thank real life for that. It could have been longer, but I wanted to finish it before my birthday. : 3 But anyway, yay for updates!**

**Also, I apologize for mixing season 0 and DM so much... it started out as a sort of break between the episode where Marik and Bakura meet for the first time and Battle City. Though I started this before I got to that episode, so it's sort of like a parallel universe now? Haha. Anyway, I'll try to stick to one series or the other, or both if you prefer. **

**Wow this is getting long... But once again I apologize for everything. I'll try and get another chapter out soon, and for End Of The World, too! **


	7. Communications

_Tak_

_Tak_

_Tak_

_Taktak_

Sharpened nails drummed against polished ebony wood, pale fingers arching before slicing through the air and striking the arms of the dark throne. Claw-like fingernails played a quick, reapeating melody in the silence of the soul room, like a tune played with bones.

_Tak_

_Tak_

_Tak_

_Taktak_

A ghostly figure clad in ancient garbs reclined in a black throne, large and elegant even though it resembled a pile of melted skeletons with a seat carved out. The seat however was lined with plush red velvet, the sort that children can't help but touch because it looks so inviting. In the seat rested Bakura; or rather, Bakura's soul, tapping his fingers to some unheard metranome, eyes glazed over in a bored and disenchanted look.

How long had he been there? How long had he been separated from the kid, the host? Compared to the centuries he had spent alone, meerely minutes had passed, but to him it felt more like years. He didn't often get separated from the host, and when he did he always had ways of getting the body back. Breaking off a little piece of his own soul and hiding it inside the body, for instance. It was small enough for the kid, too ignorant of the workings of souls to notice, but large enough to take control of him again from a distance. But he hadn't rooted anything inside him as of late. He had been too...preoccupied with other matters. And now he was paying for that mistake with never ending boredom and frustration.

There was very little he could do inside the Millennium Ring. Maybe he had a little power here, such as being able to activate the Ring's own power, but aside from that he could only rattle the thing a little when he was upset. Not much use to him.

He wished he could pull people inside with him. If he could, he'd teach his host how to properly behave, and Marik...Oh, the things he'd do to Marik. But thinking about his little chew toy here was like setting himself on fire with no way to extinguish the flames. He would get all hot and bothered and of course he could relieve himself the old fashioned way, but where was the fun in that? So instead he focused on his host.

Ryou Bakura. The boy had been a doormat since they first merged. Never standing up to bullies, never talking back, never putting one foot out of line. A total bore of a child and a waste of his time. Yet their souls had been compatiable, somehow, so Bakura had to stick with him, or waste another thousand years waiting for another proper host. Bakura turned their relationship into a sort of game. He played genie and gave the kid what he wished for, but warped it in the funnest ways. It wasn't long until the other kids considered Ryou cursed and avoided him. Bakura had turned the entire world against him and Ryou wasn't even aware of it. It gave Bakura many chuckles.

And then that spikey haired brat had to come along and inspire anarchy inside him. Bakura's tyranny was never the same after that. Ryou had developed into a disobidient stain that Bakura couldn't wash away no matter how hard he scrubbed. Punishing the kid seemed to have little effect, regardless of how painful it was. Even when he was near death, he continued to revolt. What a stupid child.

And it seemed that meeting Marik had only encouraged this kind of behavior more.

There he went thinking about the Egyptian again. A slow, calm smirk curled his lips, though it could have easily been confused with an endearing smile. Bakura's feelings towards Marik always seemed ambiguous when they weren't sinister and sinister when they weren't ambiguous. But as of late he'd been more on the ambiguous side, watching Marik squirm under his loving looks and smiles. He knew the boy liked him more than he would ever let on- that much was obvious!- and this game of cat and mouse had him confused in the most delicious ways. Should he resist Bakura, the man who stole his innocence, or should he bend to the man he loves' touches? Bakura could almost see the thunderstorm of emotions attacking Marik's very soul which each action. He would rape, and then he would court. Lather rinse repeat. Keep Marik guessing and hoping and wishing and wanting and then pull it all out from under him and rattle his world once again.

And just when Bakura seemed to have the perfect chess board set up, here comes a rogue pawn knocking over every piece.

Ohh, the host would pay most dearly for interrupting their fun. He had already planned out multiple trials to put Ryou through when he got the body back. First would come the usual; he would implant the spikes on the Ring in the boy's chest so he wouldn't be able to take it off again. Then he would make him relive each and every painful moment in his life for days and days until he finally went mad. An insane mind, while prone to unexpected behavior, was much easier to control than one so willingly fighting his command. After that the body would be solely his. And then he could continue leading Marik around and tugging his leash.

Standing from his throne, Bakura grinned. He fixed his navy shenti, as it had ridden up a bit when he sat, and began stalking around the dark room, red overcoat billowing dramatically behind him even though there was no wind. He could only imagine how fucked up he had made Marik with all of this. The boy's head must be a crippled, untrusting mess by now. It already had been, what with all the things he had gone through as a boy, but Bakura honestly wouldn't be surprised if Marik started going mad too. Well... madder. He wasn't sure if he liked the idea or not. He could convince a mad Marik of anything, probably, but the sane version was so much more fun.

In the end it was sane Marik that won his affection. And he used that term loosely. He didn't love the boy, as he'd once said. He didn't care for him the way Marik may think he cared. He wanted Marik's body, his innocence, his hope and his life. But he could keep love. Love didn't matter. Love didn't get you anywhere. But he welcomed the feelings still; the more Marik cared, the more fun they'd have.

He stalked around the room as he thought about the boy, willing the throb between his legs away, promising it more fun when he finally got out of this wretched necklace again.

"Is anyone there?"

Bakura stopped in his tracks, looking around the darkness, though it was highly unlikely someone else would be in here with him. He narrowed his eyes and began walking back to his throne, the highest point in the room, to scout out the possible intruder.

Once in the seat again, he snapped his fingers. A few skull-shaped candles (or skulls filled with latern oil, since that's what they really were) flared to life and illuminated the room. He looked all around, but didn't find anyone.

"Are any spirits present?" came the voice again.

Bakura's eyes widened slightly, before they narrowed with a wide, cruel grin spreading across his face. He recognized that voice. How could he not? He had lived in its owner for years. But what was his host doing? Had he really broken out his old Ouiji board with Bakura around? Oh, the fool.

He grinned and shook his head, not believing his lucky. Closing his eyes, he focused on Ryou's voice, and found his way into the board.

~.~.~.~

Marik jumped about a mile when the planchette moved for the first time. Ryou smiled apologetically. "That was me."

Marik smiled back nervously, his fingers pulling away from the pointer a bit. "Oh."

Ryou laughed softly. "Yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you we had to warm it up." He pulled Marik's hands back to the planchette and returned his own, then gently started to push it around in a circle. "Like this."

The blond nodded and let Ryou do all the work. He still wasn't too thrilled to be playing; actually he wasn't thrilled at all. He had a bad feeling about all this, and he'd have protested the game if Ryou wasn't so excited to play again. The things he had discovered about Ryou earlier just made him feel more inclined to keep him happy.

They had been reading ghost stories since dark, and watching old scifi thrillers on Ryou's favorite movie station. They had made all kinds of tasty treats for the occasion, and had found many pillows and blankets to rest on and as many candles as they could to set the proper mood. After all that, Marik was hoping Ryou would be all spooked out and forget about the Ouija board. Unfortunatly, he had a very good memory when Bakura wasn't wiping it.

Ryou continued to make the circle for a few more moments, then stopped and pulled it back to the middle of the board. "Ready?"

Marik pulled in a breath, let it out then nodded. Ryou explained that he would be the medium, since he had the most experience, and he would be the one to ask the board questions, though Marik could throw in his own. After that, they started.

"Is anyone there?"

Marik closed his eyes and tensed his fingers, expecting the planchette to jolt from under his fingers. Nothing happened for a long time. "We have to be patient," Ryou said, then asked, "Are there any spirits present?"

This time the planchette began to slide across the board. Marik wanted to pull his hands away but kept them still, eyes staring at the glass pointer until it came to rest above the word 'yes'.

Ryou exhaled loudly. "Thank you so much for talking with us!" he gushed, and Marik could feel his shaking through the board in their laps. His knees pressed firmer against his. "What's your name?"

The pointer slid across the aged cardboard to the alphabet. Slowly it spelled out "N-O-N-A-M-E".

"Do you not have a name? Or do you just not want to share?"

The ghost replied, "N-O-S-H-A-R-E."

Marik tensed. "Ryou..."

Ryou shook his head. "It's fine." Addressing the ghost, he said, "Do you remember when you died?"

"T-O-O-L-O-N-G-A-G-O".

Ryou seemed disappointed with that answer. Marik was more suspicious. "How did you die?"

"M-U-R-D-E-R-E-D".

Ryou gasped. Marik cringed. "Oh my. How dreadful. How old were you?"

"A-B-O-U-T-1-9."

Marik looked at Ryou hard. This was sounding too familar to him. Ryou blinked at the look. "What? Did you want to ask a question?"

Marik opened his mouth to reply, but the board must have thought the question was for it, since the planchette started moving again.

"W-H-O-S-T-H-E-R-E".

Ryou glanced up at Marik, then back down to the board. "A friend and I. That's it."

"N-A-M-E".

Marik frowned hard. He didn't like this ghost. It was too vague, too mysterious. But Ryou didn't seem worried. Maybe all Ouija board spirits were like this. Or maybe Ryou was just moving the planchette himself to freak him out. Either way, he wished he'd never agreed to play.

"I'm Ryou and my friend's name is Marik. Why do you ask?"

Marik's heart went to his throat as the spirit spelled out the answer. He could feel it throbbing in his temples, and his breath all but stopped.

"M-A-R-I-K".

The candles flickered, and many went out. It grew very dark in the room, the only two remaining beside the two. Ryou didn't look calm anymore. His eyes were wide, and his hands tensed on the planchette. "What do you want with Marik?"

"M-A-R-I-K", it spelled out again. It continued to spell out the blonde's name, over and over, and with each letter Marik grew more and more terrified, until he couldn't help but draw away. As he did, the board finished spelling out his name, and immediately spelled out, "M-I-N-E".

Ryou shook his head, but of course the spirit in the board couldn't see. "N-no," he said, somewhat shakily. Before the pointer could move over to the 'yes', Ryou cleared his throat and stated more firmly, "No! Thank you for talking with us, but we want you to leave now. Goodbye." Ryou started to slide the glass towards the 'goodbye', but it jerked out from under his fingers and quickly moved across the board.

"N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E-N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E-N-O-G-O-O-D-B-Y-E".

Ryou grabbed the planchette and tried to forcefully move it to the goodbye station. "No, we don't want to talk to you anymore!" he near-screamed at it, all the while Marik watching the fight and breathing hard, just waiting for something to come and grab him. Ryou cried out as the planchette once again ripped it self from his grip. It moved quickly across the board, sliding along the line of numbers at the bottom, from 0 to 9 to 8.

Ryou was silent for a long time, before he breathed out a quiet, "Oh no."

Marik swallowed and watched the planchette with growing apprehension. "What's happening?" he demanded, pulling even further away.

Ryou grabbed the planchette again, trying to turn it upside down. "The spirit's trying to get out. We can't let it."

Marik recoiled completely, standing up so fast the board and planchette were knocked from their laps. The board fell face down, and the pointer rolled across the floor several feet. Marik was breathing hard, arms wrapped around himself, eyes darting all around the room. Every shadow was Bakura, reaching to grab him, laughing at his fear, licking his wicked lips.

There was a sound below him, and he whipped around, sighing when he saw it was only Ryou. He had righted the board and picked up the planchette, placing it on the board. He didn't look at Marik as he said, "Help me say goodbye."

Marik hesiated, reluctant to touch the thing again. Ryou still didn't look at him, and Marik couldn't see his eyes through his bangs. The silence was unnerving, so he sat down and placed his hands on the pointer. Ryou whispered a quick farewell, and the glass moved to 'goodbye'.

Marik let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and the gush of air made Ryou's hair move. Still the boy himself didn't move, and Marik leaned towards him. "Ryou?" Ryou blinked and swallowed, but other than that, didn't respond. Marik slowly, carefully reached out and touched his shoulder. He gave the boy a small shake. "Yoo-hoo? Ryou? Are you there?"

Suddenly Ryou seemed to be brought back to life, and he sat up quickly with a short exclamation. "Wow, that was really scary! That's never happened to me before."

Marik sighed with relief and scooted away from the Ouija board again. He leaned back against the arm chair behind him, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "Yeah. Let's never play that again, okay?"

Ryou once again seemed a little disappointed, but tried not to show it. "Alright. That probably wasn't the best first encounter though." He laughed softly and placed the planchette back in the box, then picked up the board and passed it through the nearest candle's flame. When Marik looked confused, he explained that it would act to purify the board from whatever spirit had been in control of it. "Better safe than sorry."

Marik was silent as he did this, not trusting himself to speak. He still felt uneasy...how could he not?! The board had spelled his name out multiple times, and it had gone out of control! He wanted to know just what kind of spirit that was. Or maybe not. Just thinking about it made his stomach drop to his feet.

When Ryou was done picking up, he sat beside Marik so their shoulders were touching. Marik leaned away, not in a touchy mood. Ryou didn't seem to notice as he began talking. "So why do you think the board wanted you?"

Marik glanced at him, trying to hold his shudder in. "I..." His mouth was dry. He quickly swallowed and moved his tongue around the inside of his cheeks. "I don't know. I don't want to know. I just want to know that whatever that was inside is gone, and I'm safe, and that we're never going to do it again."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Marik thought he saw Ryou grin, but when he turned to look at him fully, he was wearing an understanding face with pursed lips. He nodded. "Yeah, I won't make you play anymore. And if that ever happens again I'll dispose of it."

"You probably shouldn't play with it either. That was just..." Words escaped him at the moment, so he shook his head and raised his hands and made an X in the air with them. Ryou tsked and put his arm around him, meaning to comfort, but Marik shrinked away.

"It's okay. It's gone now." Ryou's hand rubbed his bared shoulder, but it was cold and made Marik shiver. He pulled his legs to his chest and put his arms around them, and he didn't reply. He just shook his head, staring at the Ouija box.

There was silence for a while, and then Ryou sighed. "I won't be able to sleep tonight now..."

Marik pulled a face and nodded. "Yeah..."

Ryou looked at him, frowning, concern nearly radiating from him. "Are you okay? Honestly."

The blond breathed in slowly, then set it out in a loud exhale. "No."

Ryou 'aww'ed and pulled him closer. "Let's just go to bed, okay? Nothing can get you so you don't have to worry, and by morning you'll have forgotten all about it." He stood and took Marik's hands, pulling him to his feet. "C'mon," he urged when Marik just stood there, looking around the room with supicious eyes. He grabbed a few pillows and Marik's recently cleaned comfortor from the floor and started to push him towards the bedroom. He let him change into some pajamas by himself, then laid him down in bed.

"Now you go to sleep," he said, tucking the silent boy into bed. "I'll go change and then I'll be right here next to you, all night."

Marik's brows crinkled, and he sat up. "Ryou, I-"

Ryou smiled and touched Marik's hair. "No, I insist. We'll be safer if we're together, right?" He guided the Egyptian back into the bed, smiling softly. Marik stared at him, but gave an uncertain nod, so he moved away and picked up a shirt and some shorts from his pile of clothes on the bed. "I'll be right back."

Marik didn't protest, just watched him go as he snuggled into the bed. As soon as Ryou was out of sight, he grinned a very uncharacteristic grin and chuckle. He flexed his hands, balling them into fists, and rolled his neck so the bones inside popped. He let out another chuckle and licked his lips.

He was back.


	8. Trickster

Marik woke to a strange sensation on his neck. A warm, wet and pulling sensation that, though odd, was not unpleasant. In fact it was very pleasant, and his lips parted with a soft sigh. There was a pause in the sensation, and then it was on the other side of his neck, and his head automatically tilted to the opposite side to accommodate. The more awake he became, the more familiar this feeling grew. He knew he'd felt it before, but when?

A little more sleep crawled out of his mind, letting him feel his body. There was something warm and heavy in his lap, and something cold on his stomach. The cold thing moved a little, running up to his chest and back down, and then his stomach grew even colder. He shivered, and finally forced his still-tired eyes open.

It was dark. It must have still been late. That, or it was very early. At first, all he could see was the darkness, but as his eyes adjusted, a few shapes began to show themselves. They were fuzzy, but then came into focus; there was his shelf with nothing on it, a picture frame, the trunk of junk he and Bakura used to share, and Ryou hovering over him. The last one made him startle, and he flinched back into the mattress with a short cry.

Ryou giggled. "Good morning, sleeping beauty," he purred, fingers dancing up to Marik's chest.

"G-good morning?" Marik replied, catching Ryou's hands and pushing them away as he sat up. "What's going on?"

Ryou smiled sweetly, almost too sweetly, and his hands wriggled out of Marik's grip. "What do you mean? Don't you like my wake up call?" He wrapped his arms around Marik's neck, dipping his hands into his shirt collar. His palms were ice.

Marik grimaced and scrambled to reclaim the Brit's hands, his stomach growing heavy with dread. What was wrong with Ryou? "I-it could be less hands on," he admitted hesitantly, heart in his throat. He had so many bad feelings about Ryou's behavior right now...

Ryou pouted, but leaned forward so he and Marik were nose to nose. "Do you not like me touching you, Marik?" He pressed his chest against Marik's, wiggled in his lap. With building apprehension, Marik noticed that Ryou was naked. He leaned away to avoid anymore contact, and Ryou used his imbalance to push him back to the bed. He crawled over him, licking his lips. "I bet if you calm down a little you'd love me touching you. You'd beg me for more."

Marik shrunk underneath him, eyes wide and breath heavy. He moved to get up, to push Ryou off him, but the smaller boy caught his wrists and pinned him down, squeezing them so his fingernails bit into his skin painfully. He winced, and pushed his hips up to try and knock Ryou off balance. When Ryou let out a gasp of pleasure, he kept his hips close to the bed. Growling softly, he finally just looked at Ryou, making sure to meet his eyes.

"Ryou, what the fuck are you doing?" he demanded, trying to pull his hands away. Ryou chuckled softly and lay down on him, licking up his jugular.

"Marik," he sighed heavily, his voice deep with lust. He kissed and sucked at his neck, and Marik's stomach dropped when he recognized the sensation from earlier. He felt sick. "Marik," Ryou repeated again as he rubbed his hips with the Egyptian's. His breath was hot, and his voice soft and breezy. "I've waited as long as I could because I know what my dark side did to you, but I just can't help myself now. 'Mm so horny... I want you so bad."

Marik froze. He had been expecting that, but... It was still shocking to hear it come out of Ryou's mouth. It was so unnatural, so bizarre...so uncharacteristic of him. So...Not Ryou. Suddenly it dawned on his how very much not Ryou Ryou was acting and he cursed himself for not realizing it before. Before he could struggle again, Ryou released one of his hands, either because he trusted the other to not move or because he was just so sure he had startled him into paralysis. Marik took advantage of this and reached out to grab Ryou, push him off, but the smaller boy caught his hand and pinned it again. He looked hurt. The look would have hurt Marik too had he not already known it was an act.

"Don't you want me Marik?" The whitette cooed, tilting his head. He held both of Marik's wrists in one of his hands now, trailing the other down his chest, over his stomach, and coming to a stop in his crotch. "Come now, you have to want me. I'll be sooo good."

Marik shook his head. Ryou frowned and bit his neck. Marik swallowed around the teeth, and in a very weak voice he said, "You're not Ryou."

The boy above him paused, then licked the mark he had made. "What are you talking about? Of course I am."

"No you're not. Ryou would never do this."

"Marik, I'm-"

Marik's ripped his hands so quickly from Ryou's grip it surprised even himself, and left Ryou in shock. He had managed to catch Ryou by the throat, and was currently glaring up at him as he squeezed. "You may have fooled me in the beginning, but you're not Ryou, so stop wearing his face like you are."

Ryou's eyes widened, before they narrowed with a grin. He chuckled darkly, and the sound was so much deeper than it was a minute ago. Marik's heart leapt to his throat. His suspicions had been correct. It left him terrified and feeling cold and betrayed.

While he didn't change physically like he usually did, it was obvious just from the atmosphere around them now that it had all been an act. Bakura grinned down at Marik, still looking so much like Ryou it made Marik's chest hurt. "So you found me out," he purred, not caring that Marik could crush his throat at any time. He knew he wouldn't. Not with Ryou in this body too. He licked his lips and rubbed Marik through his pants. The boy flinched and tried to draw away. "What gave me away?"

Marik wriggled under him, trying to get his hand away from his most sensitive place, but that only made him grin and rub harder. "Ry-Ryou would never touch me like this. He couldn't."

Bakura laughed and stroked down Marik's side with his other hand. "Just because he wouldn't doesn't mean he couldn't...or doesn't want to." Marik squeezed his throat tighter, silently telling him to shut up, but Bakura either didn't care or didn't feel it. The man took a couple deep, but labored breaths, and when he spoke his voice was strained but still so commanding. "He probably wants you just as much as I do. He's just not as assertive as me."

"He's not a fucking rapist."

"You still think this is rape! Can't you feel how hard you are?"

"Yeah, you were only fondling me in my sleep."

"Mm, and you like it." He grabbed Marik's wrist and pulled his hand away, then leaned down and forced his lips against Marik's. The Egyptian let out a muffled cry and kicked his legs, pushed his hips up, anything to get Bakura off of him. Bakura stayed right where he was, only pulling away after he had run out of breath. He laughed softly and looked down at Marik with Ryou's soft eyes. Marik felt a stab of pain in his chest as their eyes met.

"Ryou..." he found himself whispering, involuntary tears springing into his eyes. Bakura looked surprised to see this- Marik never cried in front of him, and on those occasions he did, it was just after he had had some fun- but he soon got over his shock and slapped Marik across the face. He grabbed the boy's hair and pulled him into a sitting position, growling out his words.

"I don't care what my host has said or done to you. He's not coming to save you. You are mine."

Marik stared at him blankly with large, wet eyes. Bakura growled and slapped him again. "You're mine!"

"Then why are you still wearing Ryou's face?"

Bakura was silent for a moment, but then he grinned. "Would you rather look upon my version of his face?"

It was Marik's turn to be silent. And silent he was, finally just turning his head away from Bakura instead of giving him an answer. This angered Bakura even more, and he delivered yet another slap to Marik's face. This one had so much force it made Marik fall back onto the bed, where he just lay there waiting for the inevitable.

Bakura was breathing hard, but he collected himself and ran a hand through his hair. "Why are you always so difficult, Marik?" he questioned. He lifted himself up and turned Marik onto his stomach(though the boy did protest that, a little), then sat himself back down on the Egyptian's scarred back. "It's so much easier for both of us when you don't fight back."

Marik didn't answer again, and didn't resist as Bakura pulled his arms behind him and bound them. Bakura would have grinned if the behavior wasn't so suspicious. He grabbed a fist full of Marik's hair and pulled him up, turning his head to look at him.

"You're awfully quick to take my advice," he mused. Marik only glared back, his mouth set in a firm grimace. Bakura studied him for a moment before chuckling. "Such a strange one you are..." He kissed those frowning lips, pushing his tongue inside his mouth before letting him drop back to the bed and moving behind him. He hummed and pulled Marik's hips up, pressing his own against his ass and grinding. He groaned, and Marik whined under him. He grinned wide and did it again.

"Does that feel good, Marik?" he asked, grinding harder. Marik seemed to bite his lips, and Bakura slapped his ass. "Answer me Marik. I can do far worse you know."

Still Marik remained silent, unmoving save for his breathing. Bakura frowned and leaned over him. "You know...there are ways I can trap Ryou in his own mind so that he can never control our body again." Marik stiffened, and Bakura grinned. He ran his hands up and down Marik's thighs. Of course he couldn't really do that. If he could he already would have done it. But no harm in telling Marik another bucket of lies. Make it far more interesting. "Mhmm... I could crush his very existence right now if I wanted to... Make the body solely mine. I could have done it long ago, but he was such a sweet boy. He never fought back. And nobody cared about him back then, and what's the point of killing a hostage when no one's going to react, right?"

Marik was breathing hard now, and his hands rolled in their bindings, seeking an escape. Bakura pressed a hand upon them to still them, wanting Marik's full attention. "So Marik, I offer you this choice... Either cooperate now, and see more of Ryou's mind in the future or, you disobey me and I obliterate his soul now. Your choice."

Marik closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath. What could he do? Obeying this monster's commands was the last thing he wanted to do, but if he could really do that to Ryou... He didn't have a choice, did he? He couldn't let Ryou die, even if it was a mental death. With no one to control him, Bakura could do even more wicked things to him. And besides that, Marik had started caring about Ryou. More than he should. More than was probably healthy. He was the first person to treat him like a friend, like a real friend, and he was the first to actually call him out for what he did wrong. He was the first person aside from his siblings to comfort him and, likewise, Ryou had been the only one he'd comforted as well. And, and Ryou had protected him from Bakura's wrath until now. Even if he was oblivious to just how much he'd helped Marik just being there and being his friend and not being Bakura, Marik couldn't let him die. He couldn't stand the thought of him being gone, of Bakura being able to have their body all to himself.

He had to stop falling for people who could hurt him.

Bakura waited all of one minute before raking his fingernails down Marik's back. "Well, Marik? Have we come to an agreement?"

Marik came to a decision quickly and pushed his face into the pillow. He mumbled something unintelligible. Bakura raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "What was that now?"

"It feels good," the blonde repeated, just a louder mumble.

Bakura leaned even closer, cupping his hand around his ear. "Say again? I can't hear you in the back."

"It feels good." Barely even above a mumble. His throat tightened with unshed tears.

Bakura grinned, his tongue rolling out to wet his lips. "I knew you'd come around. And just for that, I'll be gentle." Marik grumbled something again, but Bakura paid no attention. He spit on his palm and rubbed it on his length, deciding Marik could at least have a little lubrication this time around. He still thrust quickly inside, loving Marik's gasp of pain as he was filled.

"Mm, you feel so good," he said, rolling his hips slowly. Marik clamped his lips shut, more to keep in his rush of sobs more than anything else. Bakura didn't like his silence though, and told him so by slapping his ass again. "How do I feel?" he wondered purposefully, giving Marik a sharp thrust. The boy hissed, but didn't say anything.

Bakura nearly pouted, but quickly changed tactics. He let his face fall into an innocent little frown, and lightened his voice to match his host's. "Marik, tell him how he feels! Please, for me!" He feigned a whimper. Marik had grown stiff at 'Ryou's' voice, but slowly he relaxed and mumbled once again.

"Feels good..."

"What? I can't hear you."

Marik whipped his head around to glare at him. "You feel good, you sick fuck!"

Bakura slapped his ass once more. "I could do without the name calling, but I suppose it's a start." He grabbed Marik's hips and pulled him closer, so he slowly filled Marik to the brim. Using Ryou's voice, he moaned. Marik shuddered, but from pleasure of disgust, he didn't know. He continued to slowly thrust inside, enjoying this pace. It left him with enough brain power to study Marik, really study him. His skin was richer than when they had last seen each other, and his hair shinier, more alive. He was still skinny, but he'd seemed to fill out in the day Bakura had been away. Half of Bakura was okay with this; he liked a healthier victim more than a sick one. But the other half of him knew it was because of Ryou. He didn't like that. Just like how he loved how Ryou could be used to bribe Marik now, but hated how influencing they were on each other.

Frowning at these thoughts, he gave Marik a sharp thrust that made him gasp again. It was satisfying, so he did it again. And again, and again, until he had built up a much rougher pace than he had promised, and his breath came in deep gasps. Marik didn't say much of anything, but whined and whimpered and gasped with every other thrust. It was more vocal than he'd been in a long time, and Bakura was nearly ready to come when he heard Marik speak.

"Ryou..."

He didn't stop, only slowed a bit so he could hear the blonde. He was crying, if Bakura's ears and the shaking of Marik's voice weren't lying. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. How dare Marik think of the host when it was Bakura fucking him. Growling, he flipped the boy onto his back, wrapping a hand around his neck. Marik stared back at him, his wide eyes full of fear and dejection, tears wetting his cheeks. He sobbed openly, his gaze wavering, and Bakura drew back, not sure how to react. Marik never cried in front of him. He, he just didn't. It was something that just didn't happen, Marik didn't want himself to seem weak so He just didn't. But there he was now, his eyes closed and his face strained, lips tight over his teeth in what could have just been a very ugly smile if Bakura had not known better. He didn't feel sorry for the boy, but... Something about Marik crying like this, crying in any way before it was over just made this less fun.

Yeah. That was it. Less fun.

He narrowed his eyes further and pasted on a smirk, stroking his hand down Marik's chest. "So, you're calling for the host even when it's me fucking you senseless, huh?" Marik didn't respond with more than a hiccup, so he entered him again and thrust hard enough to make him wince. He glared down at the Egyptian. "You're a filthy slut. You want me and the host." He thrusted in again, reestablishing his earlier pace. Marik choked on his sobs and cried out in pain, but didn't struggle. He had given up the fight as soon as Bakura brought Ryou into the equation.

Bakura swallowed and forced himself to move faster, thrust harder, damage and break him and make him bleed again. The more Marik cried, the sicker Bakura almost felt. But it wasn't really sickness was it? It was excitement. Anticipation. He was just anxious for Marik to come so he could gloat about him being a masochist and a slut and enjoying all of it. He wasn't getting a conscious all of a sudden or anything. He was just animated and elated feeling and seeing and hearing Marik again after being locked up in his Ring and he was excited to be doing this again and, and-!

His thoughts were suddenly cut off as a hand once again wrapped around his throat. He was too shocked by it to wonder how Marik had gotten free, and before he could even look down at the boy he found himself being pushed back into the couch cushions, two hands now on his throat. He gasped for breath and clawed at the hands, but they just tightened painfully. He looked up at Marik as the boy crawled over him, but then his mind registered the aura. This was not Marik. This man radiated hatred and anger and bitterness, while Marik's was always a cracked resemblance of the arrogance and superiority he used to hold. His tears had dried, and he seemed to care very little as the life drained from Bakura and, consequently, Ryou as well.

Warning sirens went off in Bakura's head.

This was not Marik.


	9. Apologies- The end?

Hello all! I'm pretty sure that just uploading author notes without an actual story is against FF rules, but I needed to say this, and with no chapter 9 to upload (seeing as I stopped writing it halfway through) my only option was to do it this way.

Due to my changing opinions on the subject of rape, I have decided to discontinue this story until further notice.

I started this story when I was examining the canon VS fanfiction differences in the thiefshipping pairing. I believed that Marik was capable of feeling something for Bakura, as he was perhaps the only person Marik had ever met who had gone through so much pain on behalf of the pharaoh. In Bakura's case, I believed the only romantic feelings he could have for someone (Marik included) would be lust. Very violent lust. Perhaps so violent, it was abuse. But, I hadn't read very many fanfics like that. Nor had I read many abuse/rape fics that accurately portrayed rape. To me it was always seemed like, even though it was rape, the victim still enjoyed it and that ended up with a tender romance between he and his rapist. So I wanted to write a fanfiction that showed the "truth" of how romance would go down between Marik and Bakura.

However, soon after I uploaded chapter 8, I got out of YuGiOh and started writing more original stories and roleplaying in an OC group. This kept me very distracted and unmotivated to write. I also made a tumblr and soon afterwards, I was exposed to the real truth; the truth about rape, and that it's horribly glorified in the media. Especially in the yaoi genre. Have you all noticed that? And that I had added to that made me feel guilty and uncomfortable. And, after much thought, I have decided to discontinue Soulless. Perhaps one day I might rewrite it and fix all the inconsistencies and make everyone's reactions/characterizations more accurate. Actually, now that I've said that, I really do want to rewrite it. So you may be able to look forward to more Soulless yet!

If you want another (better) fic about abuse/rape, check out A Means of Force by Faiakishi. I've read it recently, and although at times it made me uncomfortable, it is well worth the read! I'm just squeamish.

Thank you for sticking with Soulless and I for so long, and thank you sooo much for all your lovely reviews! I just wish I could continue it and reply to them all!

My deepest apologies, VK.


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